Sowing Wind
by Blue Buick R
Summary: It is horrifying how easy things can spin out of control. Something Legolas, Gimli, their friends and family are about to discover. Last part up now!
1. Default Chapter

Title: Sowing Wind

Author: Blue Buick R

Rating: PG-13

Summary: It is horrifying how easy things can spin out of control. Something Legolas, Gimli, their friends and family are about to discover.

Notes: Okay so this is my first Lord of the Rings fic so be gentle. Feedback ALWAYS appreciated.

Part 1

The late spring air was warm and would have been stifling if it were not for the light, grass-sweet, breeze tripping in from the Northwest. Scrubby bushes and tuffs of yellowing vegetation bent with the wind, while pollen and insects winged there way through the air and into hair. Legolas Thranduilion stifled a laugh as he caught a grumbled curse from his companion seated behind him, rolling along with the steady canter of their mount. He turned his flaxen crowned head to look behind him and at his companion, and could not prevent the bubble of mirth which threatened to spill from his lips. He snickered and reached out to capture the tiny red and black beetle which was struggling its way through the bramble of red, wiry hair adorning his companions face. Allowing the insect to crawl up his finger, he brought his hand closer to his  
face to peer at it, then with one final bark of laughter, he raised his hand into the air, allowing the wind to blow the creature off and back into the world.

"What is that now, Gimli? Eight?"

"Five, you silly Elf, as you well know!" the dwarf huffed back.

Legolas bowed his head in acquiescence. "Whatever the case, I think you've missed  
your calling. Instead of a warrior and leader to your people, you should have made a life as a net, capturing all manner of things from insects to birds to fish in the rivers!"

Gimli huffed once more. "While my beard may snag a great many beetles, what of your hair, eh? I've seen more butterflies and wrens land on your head in the past two hours than on any of Faramir's garden statues in the past two weeks!"

Legolas sighed as if he suffered greatly, tossing the hair whipping about his face out of his eyes. "Tis the colour I'm afraid. They mistake it for straw for a nest or a flower to sup upon."

It was Gimli's turn to snicker. "And when they discover that elf hair is much better than straw and bloom, then what? Will you allow them to pluck you bald?"

The elf lord's delicate lips curved slightly in amusement, but his eyes were serious. "I will not begrudge them a few strands of hair, perhaps they will cherish them as you cherish the Lady's."

"Or perhaps you will be forced to wear a hat or lady's kerchief," Gimli snorted.

"Perhaps," Legolas conceded as he turned back, spying the small village where they were scheduled to meet Lenwe in the distance. It was a great pity that they had to rendezvous with some of their own people as escort to their respective realms. While the Shadow had been defeated, it was still not safe to be traveling alone, especially in the realms where the number of men increased at an alarming rate while those of the other free peoples diminished just as quickly.

"We are coming upon the village. How do you think Lenwe and Frer have faired with each other?"

"As long as neither of them are dead or sport great injury, I shall deem it a success. Perhaps they ignored each other all the while with nary a word spoken between them."

"We can always hope," Legolas agreed.

"And what about that pretty thing who all but hogtied you to cart back to her lair?" Gimli added slyly.

The elf stiffened at that. "Again, we can only hope we shall not cross paths. I do not relish the possibility of refusing her again."

The dwarf pinched his companion's side rather hard. "Nonsense! I still believe you should have taken her up on her offer. Perhaps it would have loosened up those immortal sensibilities of yours!"

Legolas shook his head, hair snapping back to smack the dwarf in the face. "Nay, my friend, mortal girls hold no appeal to me, especially those with great brutes for fathers and brothers."

Gimli spat out a mouthful of golden hair. "Bah! That's part of the fun, getting away with all your bits still attached and a smile on your face."

"Why bother," Legolas laughed, "when a song on the wind and the sun on one's  
face can accomplish the same!" And with that he whooped gaily and spurred Arod into a gallop, tilting his head back to soak in the rays of the sun while sending a song into the air.

Gimli held on tighter and shook his head. "Elves!"

* * *

Encouraged by Legolas' song, it was not long before Arod's furious pace had them reaching the main dirt path which wound its way through the small village. Slowing to a walk, the two riders made their way towards the hostel at the opposite edge of town where they were to meet up with their escorts. Closed faces and intelligible whispers followed in their wake, and both dwarf and elf sat straighter upon their horse.

"It seems the people are even less friendly upon this meeting than the last," Legolas commented.

Gimli looked around at the shadowed eyes and sideward glances and had to agree. "They are a simple country people. Superstition runs deep in places such as these."

"They tolerated us well enough a few weeks past," the elf pointed out.

Gimli had no answer to that. Spotting both Lenwe and Frer standing outside the hostel up ahead, Legolas nudged Arod into a trot.

"Hail, my lord!" Lenwe called, winding an arm around Arod's neck to steady the beast as Legolas deftly slid to the ground, Gimli following a little less gracefully. "Master Gimli," the elf added as if in afterthought.

"Lord Gimli," Frer bowed his greeting as well, coming up to take Gimli's pack from him. He looked to Legolas out of the corner of his eye, then to Lenwe and proceeded to welcome the elf lord as well. "Master elf."

"Lenwe, Frer," Legolas returned. "What news?"

Both dwarf and elf shifted uneasily. "Ill news I'm afraid, my lord," Lenwe finally said. "You are required to go to the village hall."

"Why must I do this?" Legolas demanded.

"I do not know," Lenwe replied imploringly. "Only that the people of this village do not look kindly upon us and that your presence was demanded at the hall as soon as you arrived."

"Only Legolas'?" Gimli inquired.

Lenwe nodded. "I arrived two days past and was welcomed courteously enough. That night Frer also arrived. At evening meal that girl who accosted you, my lord, came into the hostel and inquired after you." Now the elf's fair face turned hard. "I admit that I gave a false statement and said I did not know when you were to arrive. I found her behavior towards you last time contemptible, especially for a maiden towards someone such as yourself."

One finely sculpted brow arched. "Such as myself?"

Lenwe straightened. "Yes, a prince of two realms and a hero of the great war, not to mention one of the Eldar. It took great restraint not to slap her about the face when she was so forward toward you! Why she even had the gall to lay a hand upon your person!"

Gimli snorted. "For all that is holy, it is not as if she were an orc or a diseased animal!"

Frer smiled, amused, but said nothing.

Lenwe glared down at the dwarf. "Whatever the case," he continued icily, "she looked worried and left in a rather distracted state. I thought that the matter was closed but just this morning the town justice came storming into the hostel looking for you; I caught sight of both the girl and her father lingering outside the door. When I told him you were not here but were expected today, he ordered me to bring you to the village hall as soon as you arrived."

Legolas looked thoughtful for a moment then turned to Frer. "You were there during these events?"

"Yes," Frer replied.

"Have you any detail to add?" Gimli asked.

Frer shook his head. "It is as he said. The girl came wanting to know where the elf was then left when she found he was not about. The next day passed without incident, but this morning the justice arrived in a huff. Since then the people have been glaring daggers at us all day."

"Strange," Legolas murmured. "Very well then," he declared a bit louder. "If my presence has been requested at the hall, I shall obey."

Making as if to remount Arod, Legolas was stopped by Lenwe's hand on his arm.

"My lord, I beg you not to go. These people seem hostile; it is not safe for you to be here."

"And what do you suggest we do, Lenwe. Speed out of the village at all haste, fighting our way out if needs must?"

"Yes!" Lenwe exclaimed. "A few surprised mortals are no match for the four of us. We can leave this place and never return."

"And what if the village people take a grievance to Prince Faramir concerning the matter? I will not seem an unlawful and wild neighbor to our Ithilien allies."

Lenwe looked as if he was going to say more but quieted as Legolas raised a hand in finality. Leaping upon Arod's back, he pulled Gimli up after him. "Retrieve your mount and your belongings and meet us at the hall. We will be leaving as soon as my business there, whatever it may be, is concluded."

Turning Arod toward the center of town, Legolas steered through the dirt street all the more aware of the deadly cold eyes brushing over him as they passed.

* * *

The village hall was not really a hall at all, but a medium-sized log structure, with a thatched roof and tarred seams. Not only did it serve as the house of justice, but also as a gathering place for weddings, harvest feasts, and the annual pig auction. Leaving Arod to stand patiently by the entrance, Legolas and Gimli strode up the five creaking wooden steps to the large wooden doors, pushing them open in their haste and walking into the musty, smoky interior. As soon as they passed the threshold, they noticed the girl, her father, and what they took to be the justice gathered by a table. The girl was sitting down, head bowed as she buried her face in the skirts she held crumpled up to her eyes. Her father stood by her side, his arm curled protectively over her shoulder, as the justice sat in the opposite chair, writing furiously on a scrap of parchment. All three turned as the duo walked into the room.

The girl's father's eyes sparked flame as he laid eyes on them, and he abandoned his post by his daughter's side to stride up to them, lips curled back in a snarl.

"You unnatural, disgusting fiend!" he raged as he moved, hauling back and landing a vicious blow to a stunned and bewildered Legolas' jaw.

The elf staggered but did not fall, and before the man could land another blow, he intercepted the meaty fist with a lightening fast, and iron hard, grip upon his wrist.

"Enough, you shall not touch me again!" the prince stated firmly.

"Aye, he will not!" Gimli added, quickly darting in to kick at the man's shin with his hard, steel-tipped boot.

The man howled in pain and his knees gave way, forcing him to dangle in Legolas' still firm hold.

By this time the justice had galvanized into action and was standing from his chair. "Cease! Cease this at once, elf, or you'll be in more trouble than you already are!"

"He accosted me firstly," Legolas calmly pointed out, but released the man none the less.

Dropping to the plank floor with a thump but gaining his feet quickly, the burly man backed away from the two strange beings and opted for snarling at them instead.

"You'll regret everything you've done to my daughter, you beast! And your ugly little lap dog can partake as well if he kicks me again!"

The dwarf bristled and moved to do just that, but was brought up short as Legolas' gentle hand found his shoulder.

"Enough, Gimli, more violence will not accomplish anything nor answer any questions."

"It would surely be satisfying though!" the dwarf muttered.

Patting his friend's shoulder once more, Legolas steeled himself before taking a cautious step forward.

"What have I done, sir, to your daughter that you would have me summoned before the justice of this village and bring violence upon me?"

"You violated her is what you did! You took her innocence!"

The elf's slender form seemed to be physically rocked by the accusation. He took a step back in shock, but his eyes hardened perceptively.

"I did nothing of the sort! I have not laid a hand on your daughter except to remove hers! She was the one who propositioned me."

This time it was the girl who leapt to her feet. "It was a spell!" she cried. "You used elvish magic on me, forced me to act as I would not normally act, forced me to want you and to lay with you against my nature!"

"Preposterous!" Gimli cried. "What utter rubbish." He turned to Legolas and took the elf by the elbow. "Come, Legolas, let us go. There is no point in staying here and listening to this slander."

"You will NOT leave this room!" bellowed the justice. "A charge has been made against the elf, and he must be made accountable for it."

"I see little we can do to resolve the issue," Legolas pointed out. "It is my word against the maid's."

"Far from it!" the father snarled. "It is a well known fact that elves wield unnatural charms and magic - your kind enchanted the Lord Faramir into giving up our land, after all - and it is also well known that my daughter is a virtuous and good girl. That she has lain with you is proof enough!"

"But she has not lain with me, and there is no proof to contradict such."

"How do you explain her miscarriage then!" the man exclaimed. "Just yesterday she lost a child!"

Both Legolas and Gimli started at this revelation.

"Yes, that's right, you wicked thing. You forced your spawn upon her! But she could not bear the evil, and her body rejected it!"

"I was here only two weeks past. Surely you must realize that is not long enough for a babe to develop and miscarry."

"If it was conceived under a spell, it is!" yelled the girl.

"Spell, what spell?" Legolas sounded frustrated. "You all speak nonsense; there is no such magic!"

"How do we know the little harlot has not been carrying on with someone from your own village? Perhaps the child was his and she wished to cover up her misdeeds?" Gimli suggested, having quickly ascertained the truth of the entire matter. "Perhaps she even weeded the babe out herself."

"How dare you!" the girl's father snarled. "You are the slanderer!" He turned to the justice, face flaming red. "I want this stump of a creature charged as well; he's obviously in collusion with this deceptive little tree rat!" he jerked his head toward Legolas.

"Now, now," the justice brought up his hands. "We don't want more trouble on our hands." He turned toward the two companions. "You, dwarf, are not my concern at the moment and would do well to keep quiet unless you want to join your friend in the cellar."

"Cellar?" Legolas inquired suspiciously.

The justice nodded his head. "Yes, I'm afraid we must confine you in the hall's cellar. It doubles as a holding cell for miscreants, the few that we have. You will await judgment there."

"You can not possibly be serious," Gimli stated incredulously. "Do you know who this is? This is Legolas Greenleaf of Ithilien, prince of Eryn Lasgalen and personal friend to both Prince Faramir and King Elessar, and you plan on locking him in a cellar!"

"I care not if he is the Queen of all Gondor. He will be judged by a village tribunal, but in the interim he WILL be jailed in the cellar."

The dwarf was about to continue the argument when a pair of hulking lubbers emerged from a set of stairs set in the floor at the far end of the room. They bore a remarkable resemblance to the girl's father, and Gimli surmised they were a pair of brothers. Not good, not good at all.

"It is ready," one of them rumbled as they circled around the pair like caged lions.

Legolas assessed the two coolly, standing his ground, and then turned to his friend. "Go, Gimli, and meet with Lenwe and Frer. Inform them of what has transpired," he said quietly. "I will go with these men," he declared, "but expect the matter to be settled by the end of the day." This last bit was firmly stated with more than a little steel in the smooth voice.

The justice tilted his head in invitation, indicating the elf should precede them towards the stairs; the brothers followed close behind but did not touch him after a baleful glare from piercing elvish eyes warned them off such foolhardy actions.

Just before he disappeared down the staircase, Legolas cast one more glance over to his companion. "Fear not, Gimli, I still trust in the hearts of men."

The dwarf stared at the black hole in the floor long after the golden head had bobbed from sight, then snapped his head over to the girl, who still stood by the table, eyes red-rimmed, nose running. "But what of those of women?"

Spitting a dwarvish curse as well as a good amount of saliva at the girl's feet, he spun upon his heels and stormed from the hall.


	2. chapter 2

Part 2

As soon as Gimli cleared the doors to the hall, he caught sight of Lenwe and Frer standing by Arod, packs at the ready, Lenwe's own mount mouthing the other's mane. He braced himself for the coming confrontation, knowing full well how Lenwe was going to react, for while the elves were fair of face, their rages could be black and horrible… especially those of the former Mirkwood. The fact that the other elf was essentially Legolas' body guard more than aid did not help stabilize matters one bit.

As soon as he was in range, Lenwe stepped forward, looking past him, a puzzled frown furrowing his pale brow.

"Where is the prince?" he demanded.

"Listen to me, Lenwe, and do not overreact," Gimli tried to placate gruffly. "There has been a claim against Legolas. They say he enchanted a girl to his bed against her will, and they refuse to release him until he has been judged by a tribunal."

The elf's mouth dropped open as he stared at the dwarf in complete and utter astonishment. The hinges of his jaw moved but no sounds emerged. Both Frer and Gimli stepped back and watched him apprehensively, not sure as to what would come next. They did not have to wait long.

"That vile little minx!" Lenwe screeched. "She has done this! I shall rend her head from her shoulders!" he affirmed, taking a step toward the hall. "Is she within?" he whirled on Gimli, eyes flint hard and dark. "Is she?"

"Yes, but Lenwe, listen to me…" Gimli ceased all attempts to get through to the other as he realized all words after "yes" fell on deaf ears. Cursing, he launched himself at the elf's knees, bringing him to the dusty ground as he moved to dash into the hall, wicked-looking dagger materializing in his clenched fist out of thin air. "Frer, help me, you great oaf!" the dwarf yelled as he attempted to wrestle the knife from the struggling elf.

"Take your grubby hands off me, you miscreants!" Lenwe spat as Frer joined the fray, practically sitting on the squirming body. "These false claims can not go unanswered; such base accusations shall not be tolerated upon one of the Eldar! I will kill them, for in death their putrid mouths cannot utter such lies! I shall roast their tongues and feed them to warg pups. I shall…"

"Control yourself!" Gimli roared, smacking the crown of his forehead against that of the enraged elf in the hopes of knocking some sense into him, or stunning him in the least.

The blow did its job, and Lenwe's grip on the dagger slackened enough to allow Frer to pry it from his grip. With his weapon gone and his senses still addled, Lenwe looked up at the two dwarves blearily, and Gimli swore the tears threatening to spill from his eyes were not those of pain.

"What shall I do? I cannot allow them to do this to Prince Legolas!"

"WE will not," Gimli avowed, judging the elf sufficiently under control to allow him his feet again. "We will attempt to straighten matters out on our own, and if all else fails, we will ride back to Faramir and enlist his aid."

"But what of the prince until such a time?" Lenwe asked as he rolled to his feet.

Gimli hesitated only a moment. "They are locking him in the cellar of the hall."

The elf tensed but did not make to move towards the structure again. "How typical of the race of men to attempt to hide their own dishonor at the expense of another," he said bitterly.

At the moment Gimli agreed wholeheartedly, but instead said, "Not all men are as such; besides, Legolas himself trusts all will turn out well in the end. 'Tis why he let them take him away."

Lenwe smiled sadly down at him. "He has a trusting spirit, much too trusting for his own good I think."

They stood in silence for a moment, contemplating what to do, before Frer spoke. "Perhaps we may extricate the prince and escape the village?" he offered.

Lenwe looked hopeful at this suggestion, but Gimli shook his head. "Nay, it is too dangerous, not only for us but for the townspeople. Despite what you may think," and he turned to Lenwe, "the four of us would not be able to flee a mob of angry villagers so easily, especially without injuring anyone. I doubt very much Faramir or Aragorn would be pleased if, in the end, we killed a handful of their subjects in an escape attempt."

"Then what do you suggest?" Frer asked.

Gimli sighed, and turned to look down the road. "We will return to the hostel and attempt to find anyone who was there the night the girl approached Legolas. Perhaps they can be persuaded to support our version of events."

"I had a sure form of persuasion," Lenwe sniffed, "but you two snatched it from my grasp."

Despite themselves the two dwarves burst into a fit of laughter; if they could not garner any support by the end of the day, they would give Lenwe back his knife.

* * *

Gimli snarled as he almost tripped over his own feet for the third time, catching himself before he took a tumble down the stairs. It was dark, oppressively so, and the faint light from the torch held by his escort did little to light the inky expanse before them.

"How deep is this cellar?" he grumbled. "You'd think you were mining mithril down here!"

"Quiet, dwarf," his attendant snapped, "or we will turn around without you seeing the villain."

Gimli's hackles rose. "He is no villain; 'tis your sister who deserves to be locked in the dark! Falsely accusing unsuspecting travelers to obscure her own shame!"

This time when he stumbled, it was from a push, not a slip of the foot. "Silence," the man hissed. There was a note of desperation in the voice which gave the dwarf pause. He halted his trek down the stairs and turned towards the man holding the torch aloft.

"You know," he stated, stunned. "You know 'twas not Legolas who bedded your sister! Yet you say nothing!" The accusation was clear in his voice.

The man's lips thinned. "I will not have our family's honor sullied by my sister's idiocy."

"You would see an innocent man punished for a crime he did not commit?" Gimli demanded.

"He is no man."

"And what of the true culprit? Your sister's lover?"

"He will say nothing either, we've made sure of it." He made a motion for the dwarf to turn back around. "Now hurry or you will not get to see your friend at all."

Disheartened at this new information, Gimli did as he was bid and continued down the stairs until they widened out into the hall's cellar.

The large room was cold and damp, pitch black and smelled of mold. Gimli could just make out racks of wine, which lined several of the walls, as well as stacks of barrels and crates. From across the room a dim white glow radiated, the light soft around the edges. Drawn instantly to the light, the dwarf approached what seemed to be two caged walls baring off a corner of the room. The closer he got, the more detail he picked up. There sitting on the damp stone floor was his friend, iron collar heavy about his neck, a short length of chain securing it to a ring in the wall. The icy cold light shone from his skin like a pale moon in a dark sky, his hunched form straightening as Gimli approached the bars.

"Gimli," he greeted, eyes veiled.

"This place is more dungeon than wine cellar," the dwarf remarked with heat, loud enough for the man still standing by the staircase at the other end of the room to hear clearly.

"The irony is not lost upon me," the elf remarked. "If I ever have the chance to meet your father again, we can commiserate."

It was not at all funny, but Gimli let out a snort of laughter none the less.

"And why do you shine so?" he asked.

The elf's slim yet broad shoulders shrugged. "In the absence of light, I must make my own, else I go mad."

"Did they give a reason for that despicable collar, as if they need one?" Gimli asked.

"They fear I shall use some trick to escape if not properly bound - some legend about iron binding an elf's power. If I had known, I could have told them rope would have worked just as well."

The dwarf scowled but was not sure his friend could see it in the faint light he produced. "They would not allow Lenwe to see you for similar reasons, claiming they did not want the two of you weaving some magic charm to escape. It is as if they thought you could turn to smoke or red and black beetles and slip by their watchful eyes."

It was Legolas' turn to scowl, an expression Gimli felt did not sit upon his face well. "If I had such magics as they claim, do they think I would allow them to keep me here in the dark?" he snarled, shifting restlessly, chain clinking.

"I know not their minds, for they are strange even for men."

"By your words I surmise you made little progress," the elf sighed heavily.

"If speaking of little, you mean none, than yes, it is so."

"You will have to go to Faramir then?" Legolas stated apprehensively though he knew the answer.

"It looks that way."

"How long?"

Gimli stood thoughtful for a moment, staring at his friend critically as if he were assessing the health of a wilting head of cabbage. "Considering this day is at its wane and my less than stellar ability to control Arod without you, two days at least."

"You could always stay here and send Lenwe," Legolas suggested hopefully.

Gimli looked over his shoulder at the man standing by the stairs and leaned in closer to the bars. "I fear it is no longer safe for Lenwe, or even Frer and myself, to stay in this village," he whispered. "We shall leave at dawn and make all haste to find help. Hopefully Faramir has some authority over these people." He paused and reached a steady hand through the bars, Legolas' own slender one stretching out to meet it. The tips of their fingers were a breath apart but could not span the distance. "Will you be able to make two days?" Gimli asked.

Dropping his hand, Legolas took a fortifying breath. "I will have to, for I see no other choice before me."

"Two days," Gimli assured as he straitened and made to leave.

"Two days," Legolas repeated as if sealing a promise.

By the time Gimli had returned to the hostel, the last orange rays of the sun were dipping below the horizon. He hurried his steps as he spied Frer standing outside wringing his hands and pacing.

"What's going on?" Gimli asked as he lopped up to the other dwarf.

Relief lit the other's eyes as he turned his attention to Gimli. "He's left, my lord!" he exclaimed.

"Who?"

"That elf! After we failed to find anyone who would help us and you went off to visit the prince, Lenwe went and got his horse, preparing to leave. I tried to stop him, I truly did, but they're stronger and faster than they look, those elves!" he explained.

"Did he say where he was going?" Gimli demanded exasperated. Damn stubborn mule; he hoped he wasn't going off to loosen some tongues… In Lenwe's current state of mind, it might turn out a little more literal than was helpful.

At this Frer looked stricken. "He said he was returning to the colony to gather reinforcement!"

Gimli shook his head in denial. No, no, no! How could the situation go sour so very fast! Lenwe would gather Legolas' warriors, there was no doubt, but he might very well send for Eryn Lasgalen's as well, and the last thing they needed was Thranduil Oropherion coming down upon the men of Ithilien like a great hungry hawk. They'd level the village and most likely plunge Faramir, and with him Aragorn, into a head-on collision with the remaining woodland elves of Middle Earth. Without bothering to say a word to Frer, he spun around and sprinted for the stables, calling for his companion to gather his belongings. They would have to leave tonight and with all haste. It was now a race between who would arrive first, Gimli with Faramir in tow or Lenwe and his kin… or would it be the fierce king of the once dark wood? Gimli shuddered. Oh, Legolas, perhaps it is better you are secreted below ground, for the world above has suddenly gone mad.


	3. chapter 3

Part 3

Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, one of the Nine Walkers, had been in some very uncomfortable situations in his long life. He'd been caught filching biscuits from the palace kitchens one year, had climbed the snow capped peaks of Caradhras, and delved to the depths of Moria. He'd waded through orcs at both Helms Deep and the Pelennor Fields, and stood before the Black Gate of Mordor itself. However, none of these incidents discomfited him as much as his current circumstances.

He was sitting in accusing, impenetrable darkness, the iron collar encircling his neck chaffing the delicate skin there, and the seat of his breeches wet from sitting on the cold, damp, stone floor of the cellar for so long. He could not tell if the night had passed by completely or if Gimli, Frer, and Lenwe were already on their way to Faramir and some semblance of sanity or not. He hoped they were. He hoped they made it out of the village safely and would return on the second day as promised, for his patience with these mortals was wearing quite thin indeed.

He jerked his head up suddenly, the weight of the collar setting an ache in the muscles at the side of his neck, as his keen ears perceived movement in the hall above him. There were three sets of footsteps: two heavy and methodic, the other scuffling and jittery. The trio moved across the floor and to the stairs leading to his prison. It was not long before his eyes perceived the flickering, orange light of a torch, and soon the shadowed forms of the two brothers and the slighter shape of the justice followed.

The two larger men approached the cage silently with purpose in their eyes, as the justice hung back slightly behind them, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He looked... uneasy as one of the brothers produced a key and swung the cell door open, the other handing the torch back to the justice as he entered the cell.

"Try nothing foolish, elf," he barked in false bravado as he reached out to grab a handful of Legolas' hair, jerking his head back to gain better access to the lock on the collar.

"What is happening?" Legolas gritted out between clenched teeth, seething at the ill handling.

"You wish to quit this place, do you not?" the man removing the collar asked sweetly. "Your wish shall be granted."

"Really, Admar, Aden, I am not sure this is such a wise idea," the justice squeaked from his position outside the cell.

"You do not believe his crime is worthy of such treatment?" the other demanded as he passed a thick strip of black cloth to his brother.

"Well, yes, but truly, a tribunal would be much more appropriate. Following the rule of the law will absolve us of any wrong doing in the eyes of Lord Faramir and the King."

"His crime was perpetrated against our village, and it shall be the village that decides his fate." Hauling Legolas up to his feet, Admar or Aden - he did not know who bore which name - shoved him out into the waiting hands of the other. Held firmly by the upper arms, the elf was kept still by one man while the other came up from behind.

"Hurry and cover his eyes," the one holding him said. "I do not want to give him the chance to cast an enchantment."

As the blindfold was tied around his head Legolas began to struggle. "Ai, cease this folly, please! I have no powers of enchantment! I am no threat to you!"

Both brothers scoffed. "You shine like a star in the dark and have strength and speed far beyond those of mortal men. You can call the birds down from the trees and tame wild beasts with songs and strange words. If these are not enchantments, I know not what they are," one said.

"If you fear my bond with good beasts, then you fear in vain, for while you are animals, you are not akin to them." He paused then cocked his head to the side. "And if you fear the power of my voice, then why is it you cover my eyes and not my lips?"

A snarl was his only reply, and then he was led away towards what he assumed were the stairs. He could feel the heat from the justice's torch preceding the way and tread carefully as he reached the steps so as not to trip and fall. The large hands upon his arms were not removed, but tightened further, their owner guiding him along with bruising force.

He sensed immediately when they passed from the stairwell to the open hall itself, for the air was much warmer and sweeter despite the mustiness of the room. Without delay he was further directed out of the hall and into the bright morning. Once more out of doors, he took a deep cleansing breath of air, though it pained him that he could not see the sky or the sunlight but only feel its warmth upon his face. He could hear more people milling about, murmurs buzzing in his ears, as his hands were pulled out in front of him and his wrists tightly bound. Matters were deteriorating quickly, it would seem.

"What are your intentions?" he asked calmly as he was maneuvered around to stand with his back flush against what he took to be a large stake set in the ground. Such a post had not been set there the day before, he was sure of it.

"When you violated my sister, you violated this entire village. Therefore, it is their censure you will face this day," was the reply as Legolas' bound hands were jerked above his head and secured to the post.

"Yet you will not allow me to look my accusers in the eye as they cast their scorn upon me!"

"You will not need your eyes to feel their score," the man snickered and stepped back.

The first blow took the elf by complete surprise. He was ill prepared for the stone which whistled through the air and struck him hard upon the thigh. He could not see, therefore could not know it was coming. To make matter worse, the constant movement of people about the village square prevented him from pinpointing any sudden movements which might indicate from what direction an attack would come. The next projectile grazed his cheek, but was not hard like a rock, but soft and wet like spoiled fruit. When it brushed past his face, leaving a sticky trail, he jerked back in astonishment, unable to contain his cry of dismay. The crowd about him hummed at the sound of his voice.

It was the least trying of his ordeals that day.

The entire day without rest he was forced to stand, staked out by the hall of justice, the rising sun beating down on him unmercifully, as the village people came and went, passing by on their business. The constant stress of not knowing when and from which direction the next insult would be hurled wearied him. Many threw stones and foul smelling food at him, bruising his face and chest and soiling his cloths and hair. Children giggled and squealed as they ran past, kicking him about the legs or pulling on his hair hard enough to make his scalp ache. He mourned for them while thinking sadly that they would not be using it for nests.

But in the end it was being spat upon which aggrieved him the most. Men and women would slowly walk past or circle around him like wolves close enough to spit saliva or chewed up pipe weed upon him. Such actions were usually accompanied by horrible curses and slurs, many of which he did not understand nor wished to.

He was sore in both body and soul by the time the sun began to dip, his voice hoarse from pleading with his unseen assailants and the endless Sindarin songs he sang to himself for comfort. Wishing for nothing more than an ice cold bath in a forest stream where none from the race of men had ever tread, he slumped down slightly, allowing his eyes to lose focus on the black wall before him, his mind let to wander… winging to that stream if only in dreams.

* * *

While it is true they left him standing out in the chilled spring night, a state of affairs which would have been uncomfortable for a mortal, Legolas was grateful for it, for at least he was not collared and chained in the cellar like a cur. Staked out by the hall of justice, he could at least breathe in the moderately fresh air of the men's village and listen to the quiet of the night  
without having to bear the brunt of the people's scorn. While earlier in the evening a few men heavy with drink had made sport of him, and what sounded like a rat or two scuffled about his feet, no doubt picking at the spoiled fruit and such which littered the area around him, no other annoyances plagued him, and he was left alone. Whilst he could not see the stars, he imagined he could feel their pallid light twinkling down upon him or hear their song.

He had survived the day relatively unscathed in view of the circumstances, and considered himself lucky the mob of people had not seen fit to stone him to death. He was not certain, but he thought he felt the eyes of his accuser on him more than once, and wondered if she had spent the day watching her people debase him. If she did, he liked to think she did so out of regret; that she felt some remorse for what she had brought down upon him.

Whatever the case, his trial was nearly over. Gimli had promised to return on the second day, and as he felt the sun begin to struggle past the horizon, heralding dawn, his spirit lifted. Gimli had never broken a promise to him, and therefore he would come. Legolas only hoped it would be soon; he did not wish to spend the better part of this day being spat upon and cursed.

Movement to his left, the rustling of clothes, caught his attention, and he tensed in anticipation. Instead of feeling the impact of a pebble, the heat of a small body seeped into his side as someone leaned in to speak quietly to him.

"Are you awake, Master elf?" a feminine voice whispered, and it took a moment for Legolas to realize it was his accuser.

"Yes," he replied simply, curious as to what she had to say to him.

There was a long pause, the hesitancy in the girl obvious. "It is said that your kind can die without serious wound, but from force of will alone," she finally offered.

Legolas blinked behind the blindfold in surprise. "Our souls may choose to flee our bodies if our heart pains us too much, yes, if that is what you mean."

"Then I suggest you begin grieving with all haste, for t'would be better for you if you passed beyond this world on terms of your own making," she suggested.

"Why do you say such things?" Legolas asked in alarm.

A small hand was clamped over his mouth, and the girl shushed him in alarm, obviously not wanting to attract attention to them. "Quiet! I overheard my brothers enlisting some men to dig a pit just outside of the village; I believe it to be your grave. They begin at first light and will no doubt complete their task by mid-day. Once this is done, I know not how they intend to end your life, but for a crime such as you have been condemned, I doubt very much it shall be quick or painless."

"But I have committed no such crime!" Legolas whispered firmly when she removed her hand. "You know this well, yet you will allow them to kill me for it."

"My brothers steer the course of your fate now, not I," she told him. "I hoped you would escape before now, that your dwarf friend would whisk you away, but you gave yourself over willingly and will not use your magic and therefore suffer."

Legolas bristled visibly. "Do not attempt to lay the blame upon me, girl. This is entirely your doing. Yet still you cling to the notion I hold some sort of power, when you well know it is a lie."

Before she could form a reply to his words, an angry voice interrupted.

"Martia! Get away from him!" her father's voice cut through the pre-dawn air.

Legolas could feel the girl's body being ripped away from him; a stinging open-palmed slap to the side of his head and ear followed. Heat rushed to the wounded ear, his pulse thrumming at its tip.

"What are you doing to her, you swine!"

"Nothing, father!" the girl pleaded. "I simply wished to look upon him without fear, for look how helpless he is!"

The man took a few deep calming breaths before speaking again. "I told you to stay well away from him. We do not know what he is capable of. Why look!" he exclaimed. "His bruises already fade! He is most likely drawing energy from the people around him to heal himself!" he continued, horrified at the thought. He even took a large step back, away from where Legolas was tied, as if a few more feet between them would help matters. "Quickly, run and tell the people with babes to move them as far away from the center of town as possible. Young ones are weaker and may die if their life force is drained away for the benefit of this monster."

Legolas could not prevent his lip from curling in disgust. What did these people see when they looked upon him, Sauron himself? Insinuating he would slay children as well as violate young girls. How had the honor of the elves fallen so greatly in the minds of men that such thoughts could even come to fruition?

He heard the girl run away, intent of spreading the word of his new life draining abilities no doubt, leaving him alone with her father.

"You will be punished today, elf," he spat. "The first to warrant such a fate in the memory of even the oldest men here."

"If you do this thing, you will be guilty of murder, and Lord Faramir and the king will be forced to punish YOU instead," Legolas informed him.

"We follow our own ancient laws and do not fear Faramir or Elessar. They may govern this land, but they do not hold sway over our own affairs."

"If you believe these things then you are fools. You speak of ancient laws, which were no doubt unwritten at the birth of even the youngest of my kind, and of a punishment the oldest men here have not witnessed, but whose lives are but a blink of mine eye. I walked this earth before this village was a thought, and hail from a kingdom which stood long before the very thrown of Gondor was forged! I may die by your hand, but it is you who has no sway over me."

"Brave words," said the man. "But we shall see how superior you are when you come face to face with your end." And with that he walked away.

* * *

As the sun continued its assent across the sky and the day progressed, no one passed by the bound elf. He thought they may be frightened of venturing too near in case he drained their energy to bolster himself. He smirked. If he survived this he would have to tell his father of this new Elven gift. He was certain he would find it amusing and would most likely encourage its belief, thinking that if men feared the elves they would leave them well alone. That was perhaps true, but it might also be turned to their disadvantage as it had in this place. Fear bred contempt and suspicion and could lead to violence. If men felt threatened by the remaining fair folk, they might very well attempt to get rid of them by any means necessary. Most likely such a scenario would not occur under Aragorn's rule, but once he passed, the chances increased greatly. Perhaps it truly was for the best, he thought, that Valinor called to them more and more with each passing season. They would leave these shores of their own free will and not loose their lives in the wake of men's fear.

There was still no sign of Gimli, Lenwe, and Faramir.

The sun was directly over his head when a group of people finally approached him.

"Riders have been spotted in the distance," one of the girl's brothers informed him. "Your friends have come to help you it would seem."

"For your sakes, please wait for their arrival, and this can be settled properly under the eye of the Steward," Legolas attempted to appeal to there common sense one last time.

"We will not be denied, justice," an unfamiliar voice yelled. "We have decided your fate, and you shall meet it, Steward or no!"

There were rumblings of assent amongst the crowd.

"Come, quickly, this must be done before they arrive."

A group of men surged forward and began to extricate Legolas from the stake. They unhooked his arms and lowered them to be retied behind his back. The muscles and joints screamed their protest, and the elf had to bite his lip to stifle a groan. Hustled and jostled around, he was prodded and pulled up into a wagon which waited nearby, two men mounting behind him for company. A driver leapt up as well and clucked to the horse, jerking the wagon into motion. The crowd could be heard following after them, a long train of morbidity tailing behind the condemned.

It was not long before they reached wherever it was they were going. It was a small settlement after all. Pulled from the back of the wagon, Legolas' shod feet touched down upon grass instead of stone or the dirt paths of the village proper. He sighed at the feel of the blades beneath his feet, but his joy was short lived as he detected the scent of freshly churned earth in the air.

Without preamble, a signaling cheer from the crowd prompted an unceremonious shove against his chest hard enough to send him tumbling. His breath caught in his throat as he fell much farther than he expected, and he landed hard on his back. Stunned, his lungs paralyzed for a spell, it took him a moment to realize he felt soil beneath his hands and not grass. Rolling to the right, his shoulder came into contact with what felt like a dirt wall; rolling to the left found the same. The first dredges of panic were beginning to form as Legolas concluded he'd been tossed into the hole the girl said was to be his grave.

Ai, Elbereth, no! Struggling to sit up and make an attempt to worm his way out of the pit, his heart rate increased ten fold.

"Grab the ends tightly, boys, then pull up at the same time," someone instructed from above him.

Realizing he would get little done if he could not see, Legolas rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to dislodge the blindfold. He managed to pull down the side, a frantic blue eye peering up at the shadowed shapes hovering around the edge of the hole, the sun lighting the world from behind.

It was then that he broke, for a deluge of heavy, damp soil began to rain upon him. The men had pilled the dirt onto sheets of canvas laid out on both sides of the pit, which they now took hold of, and by lifting one end forced the dirt to slide back from whence it came. Only now there was a body within. A live one.

A particularly hard clod of earth struck Legolas in the head, and he fell back once more, dazed. He laid there, a voice screaming in Sindarin, pleading for mercy he knew the race of men did not have, echoing in his ears. He could not be buried alive! He could not. He would do as the girl advised: he would rend his heart from his own chest and allow his spirit to escape to Mandos before he would allow dirt to blacken his eyes and fill his mouth.

But of course such an endeavor would take concentration, something he had very little of at the moment. He was panicking and could do nothing for it. Wriggling around in the suffocating blanket of earth amassing around his sides, blinking grains of muck from his eyes and spitting it from his mouth, he could do nothing!

The girl's father had been right. This was not the dignity of the Eldar which filled him this day. He was not behaving as a prince of his people should. Instead he was sobbing and twisting about as Gollum once had - a contemptible creature worthy of neither pity nor aid.

The men seemed to have reach the apex of their endeavor, for one final heave brought the majority of he earth down over him, enveloping him and blotting out the world above. His ears plugged, and his limbs were weighed down useless. As he watched the soil rain down, he thrust his shoulders and face up in one last desperate attempt to take a breath, as if he could become an arrow and fly from the pit into the sky.

As were most of his deeds these past few days, it was in vain.

His last thoughts before he allowed his mind to scatter like flushed fowl from a field was that Gimli had not come in time, and that there was no goodness left in the hearts of men.


	4. chapter 4

Part 4

Having spent many more days than he wished to count bumping along on Arod's back, Gimli son of Gloin could not fathom how the ordeal could be so noticeably smoother with Legolas at the reins… metaphorically speaking of course. And perhaps that was the entire problem; the beast had become accustomed to carrying passengers without saddle or bridle and was now spoiled, purposefully creating a rougher ride than was necessary for Gimli and Frer out of spite. So like a horse. Or so like an elf!

Whatever the case, after two days of rushing to and fro across Ithilien in a race to retrieve Faramir and return to the village before anything untoward happened to his friend, his backside was quite aware of the difference. Not to mention the fact that a small army of decidedly grumpy elves might very well be descending upon the village at any moment, with, if Thranduil had been alerted to the matter, an even larger and more grumpy elven army on its heels. If Gimli  
had any luck, Lenwe will have gathered a small contingent of his compatriots, slipped back into the town with that creeping way elves seemed to favor so much, and released Legolas with none the wiser - thus saving Gimli the trouble of having to crack some skulls.

He doubted very much such was the case.

If they had, Gimli's little group should have met Legolas somewhere along the way, as he knew full well they were coming to his aid. More to the point, if Lenwe's rage was anything to go by, a mass of unhappy elves would most likely prefer to express their displeasure by bringing said displeasure down upon the villagers' heads with all possible flourish and pomp. That there was no smoke billowing from the tiny cottages as they approached indicated to Gimli that he was the first to arrive.

Something was amiss, however, for as they entered the village, riding down the dirt packed street, very few people were about. In fact the entire village seemed disserted. There was no movement, no weary faces peering out of windows at this new invasion of strangers. It all made Gimli decidedly uneasy.

"Where are the townspeople?" Faramir asked at his side, looking about him anxiously.

"I know not, but I have an ill feeling about it," the dwarf replied.

"Surly they have not fled when they realized we had gone to fetch the Steward," Frer expressed from his seat behind his lord.

"Where would they go?" Faramir supplied. "An entire village of people - even a small one such as this - cannot simply pick up and move. They would need provisions and a destination in mind. I cannot see them doing such a thing, especially if, as you say, they did not believe they were in the wrong by imprisoning the Prince."

"We should go to the hall, determine whether Legolas is still there," Gimli suggested.

Faramir nodded his agreement then turned to the few soldiers he had brought with him and indicated they should spread out and search the village. The magistrate he had also brought along to facilitate the entire conflict would accompany them to the hall of justice.

"You do not think the elves..." Frer almost whispered from behind Gimli as they nudged their mounts forward toward the center of town.

"Silence," Gimli hissed. "Do not tell me you have been taken in by these people's follies. Or are they your own?"

Swallowing audibly, Frer said nothing more.

Gimli's unease multiplied tenfold when he saw the tall, sturdy wooden post rising from the ground in front of the hall of justice. Dismounting quickly, he ran over to the stake and looked about the area. There were stones and rotting fruit scattered about, and the dust surrounding the post had been disturbed by a great many feet passing. It was not long before the other three joined him.

"Does your magistrate take note of this," Gimli growled to Faramir. "For surely this… barbarism is unacceptable."

"These are a country folk, long left to their own devices; we should not judge them too harshly," sighed the magistrate. "Further we do not know without a doubt whether what looks to have happened truly happened. We do not wish to be guilty of drawing premature conclusions as you say these villagers have done."

Biting his tongue hard enough to hurt, Gimli scowled. He did not say these people drew the wrong conclusion, he knew they did! Staring up at the post as if his very glare could set it ablaze, a glimmer of something bright, buffeted by the breeze, drew his attention.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing to the area on the post where he caught sight of the flash.

Stepping forward, Faramir reached out and grabbed at what looked to be thin air. Bringing it curiously to his face, Gimli watched as his shoulders, along with his expression, fell. Turning to the dwarf, he held out his hand.

Looking down, Gimli could see three long, pale gold strands of hair. He reached out with a shaking hand and reverently took them from the Steward's grasp.

The picture was clear now. Legolas had stood against that pole, his head touching the rough wood, hair from the back of his head snagging and pulling free. Perhaps it happened when he jerked away from a blow, or perhaps when he shook his head in denial at accusations so false they were almost comical. The dwarf spun on the magistrate.

"Here!" he yelled brandishing the hair. "Here is your proof. Too long to be any man's and too fine to be a mortal woman's!"

In the silence that followed the outburst, the four of them cast uncomfortable gazes about the square, as if the villagers or Legolas himself were hiding out of sight behind carts or barrels, waiting to leap out and surprise them. As they did so, Faramir took notice of a set of wheel tracks in the earth. Crouching down to have a closer look, he surmised that they were those of a wagon, laden with some sort of load in the back. Following the tracks with his eyes, he observed their direction, as well as what looked to be a large assembly of footprints and scuffs trailing along behind it.

"What is it?" Gimli asked as he came to squat down beside Faramir, gold strands still clutched firmly in his fist as is he were afraid that if they blew away, Legolas too would be lost along with them.

"These are wagon tracks," Faramir pointed them out. "It seems they loaded something from this area into the back and drove off, a number of people following."

The silence with followed this statement was grimmer than those previous, as both dwarves and men turned over the many possibilities of such a scenario. None of them pleasant.

"We should follow," Gimli suggested.

"Do you not wish to see if Legolas is still in the cellar?" Faramir asked surprised.

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "My guts tell me he is no longer there. If he is, he will still be there upon our return, if not… I suggest we follow these tracks with all haste."

With a curt nod, Faramir rose to his feet and moved to mount his horse in a fluid motion. Turning to Frer, who continued to stand by the stake, he beckoned the dwarf forward.

"Could you go a find my men?" he asked. "Once done, come and meet us at the west end of town. That seems to be where the wagon tracks lead."

Glad for something to do other than stand around in the eerie silence, wondering what had befallen his lord's dearest friend and what would subsequently happen if something ghastly had befallen him, Frer bowed curtly and ran off to find Faramir's soldiers.

The west edge of town was not far off and before they'd even cleared the last house, Gimli, Faramir, and the magistrate came across their lost villagers. The majority of the townspeople were straggling in from a grassy field, heading back towards the

village. The wagon was amongst them, two large canvas sheets sitting in the back covered in soil. Then entire procession stopped at the sight of the dwarf and two strange men.

Bringing Arod to the front, Gimli looked fiercely across the assembled villagers. "What have you done with him, you dogs!" he cried out.

A hush settled upon the mass of people, blank faces staring back at them. It was not long, however, before the two brothers of the girl who had accused Legolas stepped out of the crowd to face them.

"I suppose you mean the elf," one said.

"You know very well that is who I speak of!" Gimli snarled, dropping down from his horse and stalking up to them. "Where is he?"

"He escaped," he replied smoothly. "When we descended into the cellar to bring him food and water, he was gone."

Gimli knew very well this was a lie. Legolas had been locked in a sturdy cell, as well as securely chained; and while skilled, even the elf would not have been able to extract himself.

"If that is the case, what are you all doing out here?" he demanded.

Screwing up his face, the man's lips curled. "He killed one of our people in his escape. We were burying him."

"Did you not just say you found his cell empty with no trace of him?" Gimli heard the magistrate question from somewhere behind him.

All eyes turned toward the two men sitting on restlessly shifting horses.

"Who are you?" one brother demanded.

"He is a magistrate, brought here, by me, to settle matters fairly," Faramir cut in sternly.

The men snorted. "We have a justice, thank you! And who do you think you are to appoint a stranger to settle our affairs."

"I am Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Lord Prince of Ithilien." He was not surprised they did not recognize him. The country people were isolated and came into the cities but sporadically, if at all. They would never have had the chance to see his face or have his likeness described to them.

The brothers stiffened and the crowd shifted nervously.

"Now, Lord Gimli here asked a question, and I too would like to hear the answer. Where is Prince Legolas?"

"It is as we said," the man recovered quickly. "We went down to feed the elf, found the cell empty." He shifted his gaze toward the magistrate. "When we searched the town, we found a stable hand dead and a horse stolen. The elf obviously killed the lad as he attempted to abscond with the animal."

"And now you are gathered here to bury the victim," Faramir finished the tale, his horse dancing nervously beneath him. He'd been required to haul back on the reins more than once to keep his mount still.

At the very mention of Legolas killing someone in cold blood for the sake of a horse, Gimli's blood began to boil. Standing with his feet wide apart, it took all of his iron will not to jump forward and hack the man's head from his thick bull neck.

"If this is so," the dwarf challenged, "one of you come forward and whisper the name of this stable hand in mine and the magistrate's ear, then another can follow and do the same."

No one stepped forward, and the unease and anxiety amongst the people gathered there rose to greater degrees.

All throughout the interaction between men and dwarf, Arod had inched cautiously forward and was now abreast with Gimli, ears pricked and swiveling intently, nostrils flared. Putting a hand on the horse's chest to halt his progress, the dwarf found he was not being heeded; the animal continued to move further out into the field.

"Blasted horse, now is not the time!" he cursed it. He was not up to chasing after some mulish animal who decided it was time to go off frolicking amongst the clover.

He made a grab for a length of mane, but Arod tossed his head with an angry snort and trotted forward, paying no mind that he was plowing right through the assembled villagers, almost trampling those who did not get out of the way in time.

"Durin's beard! Come back here you addle-brained equine!" Gimli ran after him, shouldering past people who turned to stare slack-jawed at the single-minded horse.

When he finally cleared the mob, the dwarf could see Arod standing over a plot of earth which had been recently turned over. His elegant head was close to the ground, deep moist breaths billowing from his nose, one hoof pawing anxiously at the soil.

Gimli stopped in anguished shock as the pieces fell into place. The stake, the stones, the wagon trail. This freshly dug earth. These people had indeed come out to burry a body, only it was not one of their own, but that of the so-called criminal in there midst. Unable to hold back a sob, Gimli stumbled the rest of the way forward, dropping to his knees by the grave. He was too late. Much too late. Legolas was dead… no murdered, and here is where they had attempted to hide him forever.

Clawing at the ground frantically, he dug through the soft soil with his hands. He would not allow his friend to rest here, laid down by the hands of his killers, under unfamiliar ground, with no great trees in sight whose roots could cradle his body. He did not hear Faramir and the magistrate move up next to him. Did not see their pitying looks, or the villagers' alarm. There was only he and Arod pawing at the ground which they knew for certain had swallowed their friend.

Strands of once living gold were the first signs they were getting close - mixed amongst the dirt like a miraculous find of some undiscovered vein of metal. All of a sudden, soil collapsed inward, a miniature cave-in which revealed the top of a fair head. At the sight, Gimli gave a small cry and turned to the two men standing nearby.

"Come, you fools, help me get him out!" he shouted to them.

Jerked into action, Faramir and the magistrate surged forward to help the dwarf extract Legolas' body from the ground. Quickly shifting soil out of the way, the three of them uncovered more of the elf's head, becoming more disconcerted by the moment as they realized the body was partly in an upright position, the blue eyes crusted with dirt but still open. It was becoming clear that he had been alive when the earth had come crushing in.

Finally they managed to haul the elf's body free of the earth's grip, pulling the limp form up out of the pit and onto the grass. Faramir stepped back in horror as he watched Gimli gather the body in his arms, weeping unabashedly, strong, stout hand petting the grime-laden head.

"What is the meaning of this!" he spun to scream at the assembled village people when he could take no more of it. They stood there staring at the spectacle, guilt evident on their faces. "This does not look like a stable hand to me!" he thrust his hand out to point at the body held in the crumpled dwarf's arms.

"He was punished for his crime! We shall not suffer your scorn, my Lord, for meting out justice!" a man said as he stepped forward to stand tall and defiant before Faramir, a cringing girl at his side.

The words appeared to be a breaking point for the dwarf. As the last words left the man's lips, he surged to his feet, letting Legolas' body slip to the ground, and charged forward, tackling the surprised man.

"Crime! There was no crime, you pig of a man!" He rained a series of rock heavy blows to the man's face. "He did not touch your two-faced daughter or use magical enchantments! He was a kind, gentle, truthful being! And you've murdered him! Threw him into a pit and swathed him in filth while he still breathed!" He took the man by the shoulders, shaking him fiercely, as if he  
could somehow make him understand what he had done. "You will pay, do you hear me? When the elves come, when Thranduil comes, I will gladly stand by his side and watch him eat your liver raw. I will glorify in taking my share when it is offered."

At the mention of more elves - ferocious ones it would seem - who were apparently coming to the village, the people began to babble fearfully.

"He was not alive when we buried him!" the girl shrieked. Casting a baleful look back at her fellow villagers she moved forward to club Gimli on the back, attempting to distract him from her father. "He died of unhappiness long before then! I know they can, he told me so!"

Gimli leapt up off the prostrate man and whirled on the girl, slapping her soundly across the face. The crowd, including Faramir and the magistrate, gasped in shock.

"Do not take me for a fool like the rest of these people here!" he snarled, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her over to the elf's body. "Look, look, here woman! His arms are tied behind his back! Do your people usually bind up their dead? Were you afraid his elvish ways would allow him to rise from his grave and wreak vengeance upon you?"

She opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it just as quickly for she had no answer.

"Ah, ah! Finally you have nothing to say. No story to tell. No explanation. You have been caught in your own lies. Well, mark it well, for it will not be the last time you are caught out!" he mocked, then pushed her away so he might kneel back beside his friend and take him in his arms once more.

Just then Frer arrived along with the handful of soldiers he'd been sent off to collect. He stopped unbelieving at the scene before him then sprang into action, quickly sprinting to his lord's side, putting a comforting hand on his heaving shoulders.

"Is he hurt badly, my lord?" he asked quietly, sure the answer was yes for why else would Gimli be weeping so.

Gimli released a bitter laugh. "Badly? Badly! I should think so, Frer, he is dead! They buried him alive!"

Frer frowned and bent over Gimli's shoulder to get a better look at Legolas. "Dead? But my lord, his ear is red."

Blinking in incomprehension, he looked back at Frer with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

"There," Frer pointed to one gracefully swept ear. "'Tis red, not bruised, but rosy as if blood has rushed to the area. If he were dead, it would not be so."

Reaching out with a wavering hand, Gimli gently touched the ends of his fingers to the blush tip of Legolas' ear. It was hot to the touch, like the feel of a wound.

"Ai!" he cried out, quickly bringing his own ear down to the elf's chest.

There. He could barely perceive it. The sound of a heart beat and an almost imperceptible intake of air into burdened lungs. By the Valar, he was alive! He did not know how it was possible, but it was so.

Quickly turning the body over, he draped Legolas face down over his thighs, calling for Faramir to help him.

"Hurry, quickly, put your hands on his ribs, by his sides," he instructed. "Push gently in the rhythm of breath while I hold him."

The steward did as he was told, kneeling down across from the dwarf, his mind still in a whirl as to what exactly was happening. First Legolas was missing, then supposedly escaped, then dead, now perhaps alive. Everything was progressing much too quickly for a normal man to cope.

Three pushes later and the long lean body between his hands and Gimli's lap stiffened, letting out two quiet little coughs. The dwarf raised his eyes a moment to look Faramir in the face, his lip clamped firmly between his teeth, but the relief painted there unmistakably.

This time he gently turned the elf over in his arms, supporting his head in the crook of his arm. He wiped away the brown-tinged mucus trailing from the corner of the elf's bow shaped mouth, rubbing it between his fingers to feel the granulated texture of sand mixed in with it. Close, it was much too close.

Leaning forward, he rested his bearded cheek against his friend's smooth one. "Two days, as promised," he murmured in the elf's gloriously red-tinged ear.


	5. chapter 5

Part 5

They had contemplated using the wagon, but the countryside of Ithilien did not make for easy passage for anything with wheels. Unfettered horses were faster at any rate, even burdened with two passengers, and Gimli yearned for speed with fervor. Faramir had not been convinced of his decision to leave, but Gimli - having seen dwarves survive cave-ins but die soon after of sickness in the lungs from inhaling too much dust and grit - was adamant. He did not know how much dirt now lay in Legolas' lungs, but he would not take the chance of the elf suddenly ceasing breath with nary a healer in sight. They'd ride back to Faramir's city, where Legolas could be properly cared for. Moreover, even if there had been a healer with any skill in the village, Gimli would not have let them come within a hundred feet of his friend. These people had done enough damage already.

Therefore, it was with great reluctance that Faramir took the still unconscious elf into his arms, handed up by two soldiers, and settled the limp form before him on his horse. Gimli sat impatiently nearby on Arod, wanting to be on their way and put as much distance as possible between them and the cursed town. He had been upset by the sorry fact that he could not carry Legolas himself, but the elf was too tall and ungainly in his lifeless state for Gimli to safely ride with him.

They would leave the soldiers and the magistrate behind; they would attempt to ferret out the truth of what had happened, take testimony, and gather evidence for any hearing that would take place in the future. The town's people were unhappy with the pronouncement, and Gimli thought it a colossal waste of time, for it was clear what had transpired right from the time the girl accused Legolas of rape to the present state of affairs. The only good the dwarf saw in leaving people behind was to intercept the elves when they finally arrived and explain matters to them. They were far less likely to raze the town to the ground if Legolas was no longer there, and a diversionary explanation of what had happened, with a few omissions of course, would not inflame them as much as actually seeing their Prince in his current state. What they would do once they arrived to find Legolas gone and Faramir's soldiers occupying the town was anyone's guess.

Once they were finally underway - Faramir on his great steed, Legolas clasped tightly in front of him, Gimli upon Arod who continuously attempted to stray closer to Faramir's horse to lip at Legolas hair or chin, and Frer on a mount borrowed from the magistrate - they made for quite a foursome of travelers.

"You made mention of Thranduil to the village people," Faramir addressed him once they were out of sight of the deceptively harmless looking town. "You did not speak of this to me." The tone in his voice indicated he had been wanting to discuss said omission for quite some time, probably the moment the name of Thranduil spilled from Gimli's lips like a threat to scare naughty children.

Gimli shifted uneasily on Arod's back, looking over at the steward from the corner of his eye, pretending to be intent on the countryside ahead of them. "I did not think it important at the time. It is only speculation on my part, for we cannot be sure Lenwe sent word to Legolas' father or that he would come here even if he did receive news."

Faramir looked skeptical. "I find it probable, just as you must have, that Lenwe will have informed the King of Eryn Lasgalen of his son's incarceration. I also think it likely that Thranduil will come, for what father would not? If matters had progressed as the law demands, there would have been a tribunal, with witnesses and testimony from both sides. Such proceedings take time, especially since tradition demands a representative from a neighboring town come and sit on the panel hearing the testimony. The elves from Ithilien and even Thranduil himself would have most likely arrived before the judgment was passed. And if not, I am sure he would have been more than happy to reap vengeance upon those who prosecuted his son for a false crime."

"No doubt," Gimli agreed. "Elves do not sleep as mortals do - they can travel day and night, resting as they go about their business." He snorted at a memory. "You should have seen Legolas as we ran across Rohan, chasing Merry and Pippin across the plains. He would become impatient with Aragorn and myself when we stopped to rest during the night, and would pace all through our slumber, singing to himself." He sobered quickly. "We were fortunate that the city was closer to the village than the forest, but I do not fool myself into believing Lenwe will not arrive today, and Thranduil in half the time it would normally take to travel from the former Mirkwood. We might very well have extracted Legolas from the village, as was our goal, but more trouble is on the horizon I think, traveling on the heels of an elven host."

Faramir sighed audibly. "I have not had the chance to see the Elven King before. I must admit I am curious."

Frer scoffed. "Pray your curiosity is not satisfied at this particular time, my lord," he advised.

Faramir looked puzzled. "I have heard old tales, but surly they hold no truth, for how could a being so described father and raise such a gentle spirit as Legolas?"

Gimli turned to look at him now. "How did yours?"

Faramir flushed at these words and said no more.

They rode through the rest of the day and through the onset of nightfall, ceasing only to water the horses and break bread occasionally. Luckily the moon was full and lighted their way to the city. They hurried Legolas quickly to a room, sending Frer off for some much needed rest; he could do no more now that they were safely away from the village, already having done a great service by realizing Legolas still clung to life.

A healer was sent for, and, while they waited, Gimli sat at on the bed, Legolas' head in his lap, an ivory toothed comb appearing from nowhere to gently brush through the pale locks. He brushed the grime from his friend's hair, and, despite the dirt, the smooth tresses ran through his fingers like water.

"We will have to bathe him in the morn," he told Faramir distractedly. "He will not wish to awaken unwashed and stinking of that town."

Faramir nodded. "I will make sure hot water is ready with the dawn."

* * *

Peering once more at the slumbering dwarf, Faramir could not suppress the chuckled which forced its way from his throat. It had been a long few days for the dwarf, and the exhaustion and stress had finally caught up with him. The healer had examined Legolas the previous night, inspecting bruises and lacerations and listening to his lungs and heart. There was fluid in the chest apparently, infection from the dirt taken in during his ordeal.

His current state of unconsciousness was a puzzle, however, since there seemed to be no apparent reason for the elf's continued state of unresponsiveness. They'd discovered a few bumps on the fair head but nothing to indicate a fractured skull or any wound serious enough to explain his current condition. The only explanation the healer could give was that the elf was purposefully retreating from the world, most likely a reaction to… the unpleasantness with the grave. His mind had fled his body before he could suffer the horrors of suffocation. Whether he awoke or not was uncertain and entirely up to Legolas.

Once the healer had given his verdict and left, promising to return in the morning, Gimli sat beside his friend's bed in quiet contemplation, holding a pale, slim hand, or smoothing away imaginary lines of worry upon the proud brow. Faramir had left him in peace for a time, taking the chance to be with his wife, sleep, and fortify himself for he knew not what was to come. He had found Gimli in exactly the same position with the breaking of the sun upon the horizon. It was clear by his muzzy countenance he had not slept.

When the water was brought in, the dwarf finally stirred himself into movement, and he and two serving girls bathed and changed Legolas' clothing, wiping away the filth from his luminous skin with warm water and gentle hands. Despite the elf's near comatose state, Faramir was sure the exercise had been the highlight of the two girls' lives up to that point, and most likely would be for the rest of their time on Arda. He was not sure whether Legolas would be grateful he had been unconscious during the process, for he knew nothing of the modesty of elves. Although if Queen Arwen's behavior with the king that one summer's eve in the very open and accessible garden in Minas Tirith was anything to go by…

It was neither here nor there. The matter of note was, once moving, Gimli had discovered the uncomfortable needs of his body had been ignored for far too long, and he excused himself in a great hurry. It was in the water closet that the dwarf had been discovered sound asleep. They had carefully moved him to his own room to rest, an oath from all that the particular where he had been found would never be uttered to the dwarf on pain of death.

Now Faramir was off to meet the healer and his wife in Legolas' room, just down the hallway from the dwarf's. He was hopeful the elf would have shown some improvement; the manipulation required for the bath perhaps rousing him from his self-imposed slumber. He would also have to remember to write a missive to Aragorn apprising him of matters. It would not do for the king to discover one of his closest friends was ill long after the fact, or look out his window one day to see a swarm of armed elves covering the countryside.

As he walked through the heavy oak door to Legolas' room, he found his wife and the healer already present. Éowyn sat at the head of the bed, her hands stroking the elf's temple, while the healer bent over the prone form, his ear pressed close to his chest, eyes closed in concentration. Faramir stood back in silence, casting a sad smile his wife's way, which she gladly returned.

"What news?" he asked when the healer finally straightened.

"Not much improvement, but some," replied the healer, turning to Faramir to speak. "In truth it is not his lungs I worry about. Given time and rest they should clear on their own. It is his continued lack of awareness. Too long like this, and he will starve or waste away."

"Is there nothing you can do?" Éowyn asked, the plea clear in her usually unyielding voice.

The healer stood quietly, turning back to contemplate the elf for a moment before speaking. "We may attempt to rouse him," he suggested. "Certain stimuli may force a reaction from him."

"It would not hurt him?" Faramir questioned uneasily. He could not have Gimli find out they were purposefully causing pain to his friend, no matter what the intent behind it.

The healer shook his head. "No, simply irritate him. Like an itch one cannot scratch or a sneeze on the cusp of exploding."

Faramir paused for a moment. He'd seen Legolas on the practice field; the idea of intentionally irritating him did not seem like a prudent thing to do in his mind.

"Very well," he finally agreed. They had to do something after all.

"I will stand close to his head to monitor his reaction while you provide the stimulus," the healer instructed as he stepped closer to the side of the bed.

"What must I do?"

"Go to the foot of the bed and uncover his feet," said the healer. "Proceed to run your fingernail sharply along the sole of his bare foot."

Faramir moved to the footboard of the bed, uneasily flicking the blanket off the elf's feet. He looked down on the narrow appendages, slightly disconcerted. He knew full well the notion was ridiculous, but it seemed overly intimate to be looking at Legolas' unshod feet.

After an impatient wave of the healer's hand, he took a deep breath and quickly ran the fingernail of his index finger up the length of the elf's left foot. He waited.

"Harder," said the healer, bending even closer to the elf's face. "And try on the other foot this time."

Faramir nodded, though he knew the man was not looking in his direction. With more confidence than during his previous attempt, he ran his finger along the bottom of the elf's right foot, this time with more force than he had on the left.

They all gasped when the foot jerked back. Looking up, he saw both Éowyn and the healer lean in over Legolas' face, expressions hopeful and intent.

With his attention aimed towards the head of the bed, Faramir was ill-prepared for the snake-fast strike of a foot to his jaw. There was a blur followed by pain as his head snapped back suddenly, his entire body toppling to the floor from the blow. As he lay there dazed, his jaw working, the taste of blood filling his mouth, he could hear both his wife and the healer cry out. There was also a stream of outraged Elvish reverberating through the room.

Gingerly sitting up, he watched as both the healer and Éowyn backed away from the bed in alarm, as Legolas, clearly awake now, rolled over to crouch on the bed, eyes wide and frantic as they darted about the room. As his gaze swept over the three of them, Faramir realized there was no hint of recognition in his eyes, and although the words spat in their direction were unfamiliar, the sentiment behind them was clear.

"Legolas, please." Éowyn finally shook off her shock and took a step forward.

Faramir attempted to get to his feet, intent on warning her off approaching the elf, but was not quick enough. He perceived the increased tension in the elf's body at the sound of her voice, and watched as the sharp eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. He only caught half of the profanity he sent Éowyn's way, the 'something woman' obviously not meant as a term of endearment. His suspicions were confirmed when Legolas launched himself from his position on the bed to snag his wife by the hair, yanking her face close to his until they were practically nose to nose. She let out a cry of pain, her hands going to the elf's merciless grip on her head in an attempt to pry it off. Faramir saw red, and the burst of anger allowed him to gain his feet. The movement caught Legolas' attention, and, snarling something else to Éowyn, he threw her to one side where she collided with the healer, sending them both tumbling into a dressing table then onto the floor.

Having the mad elf's full attention - while a good idea two moments ago - now seemed quite foolish. Legolas turned his body completely to face the steward, muscles in his broad shoulders bunching, lean torso stretching in anticipation of explosive movement. The eyes blazed, and a halo of loose blond hair hung about the sharp face.

But it was the rapid movement of the narrow chest which drew Faramir's attention the most. A decidedly unhealthy wheeze and gurgle seemed to accompany each quick, distressed pant of breath, and before the elf could take a step towards his perceived foe, his tense face crumpled, and his body was wracked with a fit of wet coughs. The convulsions forced him to hunch forward, thus ending his rampage quite efficiently.

Before anyone could take advantage of the opportunity presenting itself and move to restrain the elf before he recovered, heavy rushing footsteps heralded a new arrival just before the door banged open loudly. Gimli stood there in the doorway, rumpled from sleep, eyes almost as wild as Legolas' had been, and took in the scene with one quick look.

There Legolas stood, awake and aware, body curled up over his stomach in what appeared to the dwarf to be considerable pain. Faramir stood there before him, anger in his stance, body tense and ready for battle, while Éowyn and the healer lay tangled at the foot of a mirrored dresser, the woman's hair all astray.

"What are you doing to him!" he roared, stepping into the room and kicking the steward behind the knees, dropping him to the floor for the second time in as many moments.

Jolting his head up at the first word from the dwarf's lips, Legolas stared over at him, eyes watering, lips tinged slightly blue.

"Gimli," he forced a whisper of a name through the constriction in his chest before promptly collapsing onto the floor, unconscious once more.


	6. chapter 6

Part 6

Vaulting past Faramir's prone form without a second glance, Gimli rushed to Legolas' side, going to his knees and turning the elf's collapsed form onto his back. Relief swept through his body with an almost physical force as he found him still breathing, the wheezing having quieted and the unhealthy tinge to his lips fading.

"Quickly!" the healer grabbed his attention as he struggled to his feet, stumbling over to the dwarf and elf. "Bring him to the where we can restrain him!"

Gimli put a protective hand onto Legolas' body. "You are not tying him up! Take another step towards him, fool, and I will gnaw your foot from your ankle."

"We have no time for this!" the healer said, exasperated. "He has only passed unconscious from lack of air - now that he has calmed and his breathing has eased, he will awaken soon. Do you wish to have a repeat of what just happened?"

"I do not know what just happened. I just got here!" Gimli snarled.

"Legolas awoke, Gimli, and attacked us," Faramir said from the floor, seeing no point in rising again until matters had calmed and he was sure not to find himself back on his rear for a third time. "I know not why, but there was no recognition in him when he faced us, and he screamed a great many things in his own tongue." The steward paused. "I know my elvish is not superb, but I thought myself relatively adept in it; however, I understood very little of what came out of his mouth, and that which I did should not be repeated."

"I heard it all the way in my rooms," Gimli supplied. "The screaming is what woke me. I believe there was a great deal of Silvan and Quenya mixed up with the Sindarin." Some of the words the dwarf overheard had been long and flowing, complicated enough to tie knots in many a tongue, most likely Quenya, while other words had been clipped, almost unsophisticated, with an ancient quality underlying each sound - this Gimli took to be Silvan.

"Which suggests he was not thinking properly if he believed we would understand him… either that or he did not care," Éowyn surmised.

"This is all very well and good," interrupted the healer, "but now is not the time for it. Look," he pointed his chin towards Legolas' body, which was already beginning to shift as he swam back to consciousness. "I say we must tie him down for now, at least until he regains his wits."

"I will not allow it!" Gimli snarled for the second time. "I am here; he recognized me. All will be well."

The healer sighed. "At least allow me to give him a sedative. Simply something to keep him calm. He does great harm to himself and his recovery with the activity and stress we witnessed here."

Seeing Legolas' long eyelashes begin to flutter, Gimli pursed his lips but gave a curt nod of agreement to the healer. Being a bit sleepy was far better than being tied down, and while Legolas would not thank him for it, he was sure the elf, if thinking properly, would agree.

Rummaging through his sack of supplies, with which he was never seen without, the healer pulled out a small corked bottle filled with pale yellow powder. Shuffling over to the small table set beside the bed, he took up the small metal cup waiting upon it then tapped a small amount of the powder into the tepid water contained within. Swirling the contents around, he moved back over to Gimli and the rapidly stirring Legolas, handing down the cup.

"It would be best if he drank the entire mixture, but if he does not, the more the better," he quietly informed the dwarf.

Furrowing his brow, Gimli brought the cup up to his nose to sniff, finding there was very little scent to the concoction, other than an underlying bitterness trailing along the back of one's senses. He was sure Legolas would detect the difference before he got the cup within a foot of his face.

Bringing his attention back to his friend as his breath hitched slightly, he bent over to look the confused elf in the eyes, making sure to stay far enough back to prevent a purposeful collision of foreheads or a blow to the nose. Gimli was a firm believer in learning from other people's mistakes.

"Legolas," he said the elf's name firmly. "Legolas, are you well?" It was an absurd question, he knew, but he needed to get his attention - have him focus on his voice.

Legolas' bright blue eyes blinked slowly, shoulders shifting uncomfortably on the floor, a frown creasing his forehead after a time. The pale face grimaced.

"Gimli?" he croaked.

"Yes, yes, it is I," the dwarf soothed, gauging it safe enough now to lean closer and slip an arm under his friend's back to help him sit up.

"What happened?" Legolas asked as he was hauled upright. "My chest feels as if it was struck by an orc arrow."

Gimli pressed his lips into a firm line and said nothing. He could not bear to say the words, and did not want to distress Legolas more than he already was.

Unfortunately the elf did not need Gimli to remind him. Casting his eyes about the dimly lit room - no windows in sight - catching sight of Faramir, the healer, and Éowyn hovering nearby, faces tense, Legolas jerked in the dwarf's arms as if he had taken a blow, lower lip quivering.

"That girl, those people," Legolas gasped, breath already beginning to quicken. "They did horrible things to me, they…" the slender body visibly shuddered. "They spat upon me," he finally settled on saying, "and pulled my hair!"

"Hush now, do not worry yourself over it," Gimli attempted to calm his friend down, not wanting a repetition of the elf's previous collapse.

Legolas looked to him with wide eyes. "But, Gimli, then… there was… I," a quivering cough ended his attempts to speak for a breath. Taking in his surroundings once more, eyes skittering quickly over the men and woman in the room, trying to evade looking upon them, Legolas suddenly struggled to stand. "Why am I here?" he demanded. "I do not wish to be here."

Gimli wrestled with the determined elf, attempting to keep him seated while preventing the contents of the cup from spilling over the sides. Despite their best efforts, Legolas was again working himself into a fury. He needed to get the potion down him soon.

"You are back in the city," Faramir told him from his position by the door.

At the man's voice, Legolas swiveled his head to look at him, eyes narrowing, mouth tight.

"You lock me in a room with no windows," he stated coolly. "Take me outside, Gimli," he demanded, not bothering to turn and look back at the dwarf as he continued to hold Faramir's gaze.

"Do not be foolish; you are in no danger here," Gimli informed him calmly. "Now drink this, and it will help your sore chest," he offered quickly, holding out the tonic. Perhaps if he could catch Legolas off balance, the elf would down the offered medicine without thinking upon it too much.

Legolas turned back to him, eying the cup warily, wrinkling his nose at the obviously distasteful odor.

"Where is Lenwe?" he suddenly asked instead of reaching for the cup.

"He is not here," Faramir told him.

"What have you done to him?" With each question and demand, the panic was clearly rising in his voice.

"I have done nothing to him," Faramir replied stiffly, clearly becoming offended at the elf's perceived attitude.

"Where is Lenwe? I wish to see him," Legolas ordered once again. "Why am I not beneath the sky instead of locked in this dark room where you crowd around me like wolves on a carcass?" he continued, this time managing to shrug Gimli's restraining hands from him as he stood shakily.

"We do not know where Lenwe is - somewhere between the forest and here most likely! With company besides! We brought you to the city out of concern for your health. And as to why you are in a room with no windows… we simply did not think," Faramir's voice had risen but trailed off to a more apologetic tone at the last statement.

"I have found recently that men think very little," Legolas declared.

All color abruptly drained from the steward's face. "I will attribute such words to your recent troubles, my lord," he said quietly. "Otherwise, ill or not, I would be forced to take you in hand and toss you from my home. You have already assaulted both my wife and I, and while great, my patience is not limitless."

"Faramir," Éowyn warned.

A puzzled frown crossed the elf's face before he drew himself up proudly. "You would try, son of Denethor. It remains to be seen whether you would succeed."

It seemed Gimli had stood by quietly for as long as he was willing, for he stepped into the large space between the two, breaking the tension.

"Enough, Legolas, Faramir. Cease this idiocy," he stormed. "Faramir, stow your pride, he knew not who you were or what he was doing at the time! And Legolas, calm yourself and see not enemies where none exist." He held up the cup once more. "And for the sake of us all, drink the damn water."

The elf turned his nose up at the proffered drink, chest rattling.

"Please, for my own peace of mind," Gimli finally appealed. "I would not see you hurt yourself."

At the entreaty, Legolas began to weaken, peering down at his friend, reluctantly reaching out with a trembling hand to take the cup. Screwing his eyes shut, he gulped half of the contents before he began to choke and splutter.

"What vile brew is this?" he asked, voice strangled, looking down into the cup as if answers could be found in its depths.

"It shall calm you," the healer finally spoke.

The elf looked around at them all, betrayal creeping into his face. "You tricked me." He flung the cup away from him to clatter against a wall, the remaining water flying about. Both Éowyn and the healer had to duck to avoid the projectile. They did not, however, manage to remain dry. "You said it would aid my breathing!"

"It will," Gimli assured. "The calmer you are, the more rest you get, the better you will feel."

"Will you take me outside?" he asked plaintively.

The dwarf was about to open his mouth in agreement, when the healer, wiping water from his chin, spoke first.

"Absolutely not," he said. "The city's air is flying with debris, animal hair, and the like. The fields are full of pollen. You must rest your lungs after inhaling so much dirt, not strain them more."

Legolas, eyes already beginning to dull, curled his lip. "Do not speak of matters you know nothing about, man. The sun will cleanse me and the grass renew my vigor. This prison and your presence is what sickens me."

This latest outburst seemed to drain what was left of his waning energy, and the elf swayed slightly on his feet. Gimli dashed forward and steadied his friend, taking him by the elbow and helping him over to sit on the bed.

"We will go out this evening," he offered a compromise, "once activity has slowed and the pollen is not flying so high." He gave a quirk of a smile. "You can look at the stars."

Legolas returned the grin with a grateful one of his own, breaths deepening. "It has been days," he acknowledged.

Sighing heavily, he slipped sideways to recline on the bed.

"Are they dead?" he murmured, rubbing his face against the soft blanket.

"Who?" Gimli asked.

"The girl. Her brothers and father. The town's people," he elaborated.

Gimli stiffened and was not certain whether Legolas was asking after one of them or all of them.

"No," he informed him at last. "None of them are dead."

The elf stilled, all movement ceasing abruptly, before rolling over onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling with great concentration, his eyes distance.

"Perhaps they are," he suggested, cocking his head as if he were listening to something.

"No, no," Gimli continued, concerned over Legolas' lack of comprehension. "We left them alive with a magistrate and some soldiers."

"I do not think they will be able to achieve much," Legolas speculated softly, a secretive smile flitting across his lips, there and gone.

"Why not, they know their duty. Worry not, they will uncover the truth of the matter."

"No, you do not understand," Legolas shook his head. "He is here."

"Who is here?" Gimli asked, bewildered at his friend's behavior.

Before he could answer, a knock sounded at the door.

Faramir, tearing his eyes away from the conversation by the bed, with an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, turned to open it. A servant stood there, flush-faced and out of breath.

"My lord," the servant sketched a hasty bow.

"Yes, what is it?"

"My lord," the servant said again, a trifle bewildered, "there appears to be what looks like a great many elves in the distance." It was obvious the man was in a state of shocked awe.

Faramir sucked in a breath. "How close?"

"Close enough to see their leader," the servant rushed on. "A standard flies above him, trailing behind him with a mane of gold."

Both Faramir and Gimli looked as if a horse had kicked them in the gut.

"It is not possible," Gimli swiftly assured. "He could not have come so quickly."

From the bed Legolas gave a small, tinkling laugh.

"Beware the ways of the Elven King," he almost sang.


	7. chapter 7

Part 7

Gimli stood still and silent beside Faramir, watching out of the corner of his eye as the steward tugged sharply on the hem of his grey tunic for the third time in a row. Resisting the urge to tell the man to stop fidgeting he swiveled his gaze over to Frer, stationed at his left elbow, sighing quietly as he watched the younger dwarf move about restlessly as well. Catching Gimli's  
eyes upon his, Frer scowled.

"I do not understand why I must be present for this," he complained, speaking surreptitiously out of the side of his mouth.

"Because we must present a united front," Gimli whispered in reply.

Frer did very little to quiet the snort which burst forth at Gimli's words. "I do not believe it matters whether there are four of us or ten thousand; it will make no difference to Thranduil."

Admittedly Gimli thought that Frer was right, but did not voice this thought.

"Perhaps we simply plan on tossing you at him as a distraction, while we run and hide," he caustically said instead.

Faramir turned his head to face them. "Are you sure this is prudent?" he asked, either ignoring the dwarves' exchange or not having heard it. "Should we not go to meet him upon the field before the gates?" He craned his neck to the side as if looking for something. "And how long does it take a woman to make herself presentable!" That last was said with rising volume and frustration.

"You are the lord of this land and must have him come to you," Gimli replied. "He has essentially invaded your territory with what may be a hostile force; you cannot appear weak by running to his beck and call, throwing yourself at his feet. Make him come to you," he reiterated. "As to how long it takes for a woman to prepare herself," he shrugged, looking dubious. "She is your wife; I would think you would have a better idea than I."

Before Faramir could open his mouth in reply, the side door to the chamber opened, and Éowyn bustled in, resplendent in a mauve gown, a chain of gold braided in her hair.

"I hope I was not too long," she asked as she took her place beside Faramir.

He smiled at her. "No, not at all, you were like the wind. And the results are stunning, as usual. You shall dazzle him."

Gimli hid his smirk well.

Éowyn's arrival was timely, for a moment later the door opened, and a herald stepped in, drawing a quick bow.

All four of them straightened their backs and squared their shoulders, eyes alert and facing forward.

"The Honorable Magistrate Lanach," the herald announced smartly, turning quickly to open the great doors and admit the person waiting behind.

As the magistrate shuffled into the room, all four mouths were surely hanging open.

"What is the meaning of this?" Faramir asked, stunned as he stepped forward.

"My lord," the magistrate bowed, face tight. "I am sorry, my lord, but they insisted quite firmly we come with them."

"Who?"

"The elves, my lord. They arrived at the village and said our services were no longer needed, that we would accompany them back to the city."

"And what did you tell them?" Faramir questioned, outrage mounting.

The magistrate squirmed. "I did not feel it wise to contradict them, my lord."

"Smart man," Frer mumbled clearly, but shut his mouth quickly at a glare from Gimli.

"What did they do in the village?" Éowyn asked calmly.

"Nothing in my presence," the magistrate replied. "They came, removed us from the town, and we proceeded here; although a contingent of elves was left behind to, and I am repeating words that are not mine, 'ensure none of the rats attempt to scurry away'."

"This is outrageous!" Faramir fumed.

"I have been bid, my lord," the magistrate squeaked, distress mounting with Faramir's temper, "to deliver a message."

"Out with it then," Frer shouted, annoyed.

The magistrate looked to the dwarf then back to Faramir, who nodded his head, his anger deflating quickly, to be replaced by weariness.

"I am to tell you that you are to present yourself before the King of the Wood in his encampment with all haste, and that the Prince Legolas is expected to be returned to his people as well."

Faramir's shoulders slumped as he waved away the grateful magistrate. As soon as the man was out of the room and the doors shut tightly once more, the steward turned to the three figures standing behind him.

"It would seem Thranduil is much more adept at these games than I," he commented ruefully.

"No shame in it, laddie," Gimli soothed. "He's had a few thousand years more practice than you."

"What are we supposed to do?" Éowyn posed the pivotal question. "We cannot bring Legolas - he is practically senseless in bed from the sedative - and I am quite sure none of us wish for Thranduil to see him in such a… condition."

"I will go to him alone," Faramir said firmly, raising a hand to stave off his wife's protest. "I

shall bring several soldiers along of course."

"I, too, shall accompany you," Gimli stated. He was certain Thranduil was purposefully ignoring his presence for he could not be unaware of it; he did not believe for a moment that Lenwe did not mention his involvement in the debacle.

"Are you sure that is wise?" Éowyn asked skeptical.

"Doing what is wise has proved less than helpful up to this point," Gimli pointed out. "Perhaps it is time to attempt the unwise."

Gimli looked over to Frer and could see the younger dwarf's apprehension, as well as the determination behind his eyes.

"Frer, my friend," he said, "there is no need for you to accompany me. One uninvited guest, a dwarf at that, may be unwise, but two would be idiocy."

Most of the tension in the other's body deflated, and he smiled gratefully in Gimli's direction. "If you think it best, my lord," he replied.

Best? Wise? Foolhardy? As each day dawned, it seemed like every choice made mired them all the deeper. There was no best or wise or foolish; there were simply choices laid out before them… and even they were beginning to dwindle.

* * *

The elves settled their forces right before the city's gates, far enough away to be out of range of any weapons on the walls such as bows, but close enough to intimidate. Serenely going about their business, the first-born pitched tents and built cook-fires, set sentries and grazed their mounts.

Clearly they were sending the message that they were not returning to their woods anytime in the near future. And with their presence, all movement to and from the city had ceased, while throngs of people crowded upon the walls to look down upon their elven 'guests'.

As they were escorted from the gates of the city to the center of the encampment, Faramir and Gimli could see a grand pavilion erected there, elves and activity bustling around it like bees about a great flower. The large tent was dyed a deep yellow with green and brown vines and leaves embroidered upon its surface. Small hints of gold and silver thread woven into the pattern could also be seen sparkling in the sunlight. Elvish script was stitched over the top of the door and along both sides, but they were hustled along too quickly for Faramir to read the inscription.

As the flap to the tent was pulled aside, both man and dwarf gave the large-pawed lynx which lounge lazily in the grass by the entrance a wide berth. As they passed by it, the grey-speckled cat opened one slanted yellow eye to peer at them, tufted ears flicking, before closing it and returning to sleep.

Once inside they found the light level in the tent was not much diminished, whatever material it was made from allowing a great deal of natural light to filter through and illuminate the interior.

A large dragonfly flew about inside, landing every now and then on the shadowed outlines of stitched foliage. Finely woven rugs covered the grass, and a small table and chair were set to one side, a neat stack of papers along with a quill and inkpot sitting upon the table's inlaid surface.

The pavilion's lone occupant was a tall slender figure who stood facing away from doorway. He wore a fine crimson tunic over his wide set shoulders, vivid gold hair cascading down his back with prominent pointed ear-tips sweeping out from behind the locks.

Faramir motioned for the three soldiers who accompanied them to stand and wait by the entranceway as he and Gimli strode further inside. When he opened his mouth to break the silence, thought he knew not what he would have said, a deep, quiet voice silenced the words before they had begun.

"Legolas is not with you," the figure rumbled. "You bring me a Naugrim in his stead."

Faramir startled at the sudden words but cleared his throat and pressed on. "The prince is resting, Your Majesty."

The noble head cocked to one side, hair sliding over a shoulder with a whisper. "He could not rest here?"

"We did not want to disturb him," Faramir replied.

"Why do I sense, despite your assurances, that you disturbed him a great deal already?"

Faramir was glad Thranduil could not see his unbecoming scowl at those words, as well as the slight working of his sore jaw. He was formulating a reply when Gimli huffed at his side.

"Why do you not turn around and face us as is proper and stop asking useless questions?" the dwarf demanded.

The elf whirled on them, face stony. "If you insist on inflicting your presence upon me, despite my wishes, then at least have the decency to keep quiet," he snarled in Gimli's direction.

"Do not speak of decency, my lord," Faramir shot back, having had quite enough of haughty elves for one day, "for it is you who has invaded my land and bullied my people."

"Perhaps your people need a bit of bullying if they accuse innocent travelers of rape and lock them in a dark dungeon with no evidence other than the word of an insipid girl," the elven king coolly informed them.

"I was dealing with the matter. The truth would have been uncovered and any wrongdoing dealt with appropriately," Faramir explained.

Thranduil scoffed. "Forgive me if I have little faith in men punishing their own in a fitting matter, especially when the injured party was an elf."

"You accuse us of injustice?" Faramir asked hotly.

"After what I have been told already, then yes, that is precisely what I am accusing you of."

Faramir's face flamed. "Let me assure you lynching and live burials are not standard judicial practices in Ithilien," he drawled derisively.

Gimli's eyes almost popped from his head, and without compunction, he kicked the steward in the shin. Faramir jumped slightly and could not hold back a yelp of pain, but it was much too late.

Thranduil stilled, standing motionless as a leopard making ready to strike. His eyes narrowed, and what little color had infused his cheeks in his anger drained away.

"What did you say?" a flat, deadly voice asked as the dragonfly descended to perch upon the elf's right shoulder, staring out with large alien eyes at Gimli and Faramir.

"He is alive, Thranduil," Gimli hastened to appease the elf, "and relatively unhurt."

"I know he is alive, you earth-grubbing aggravation," the king shot back. "I would know if he were not! I am his father, by the Valar, I gave him life, I would know if that life was extinguished!" Striding towards the entrance to the tent, he pushed passed Faramir and Gimli, sticking his head out of the flap to bark an order before turning back to face them. "I knew he was distressed, but after what Lenwe told me, I assumed it was from the dark… not this… this… evil." Drawing his lips back from his teeth in a most feral manner, Thranduil's eyes became distant with thought. "I will grind that village and everyone in it into dust beneath my boot heel."

"Please, Your Majesty, let us all deal with this together," Faramir pleaded, watching helplessly as matters began to spin further and further out of his or anyone else's control. "I shall contact the king, and he may preside over the conflict."

Thranduil's eyes refocused, and he looked at Faramir as if the steward had suddenly sprouted Gandalf's old grey hat upon his head.

"Do you honestly believe I will allow you to send word to Elessar, so he may come with Gondorian soldiers and oust me from these lands before I reap vengeance for the wrongs perpetrated against my son?"

"There, you say it yourself, you want revenge not justice!" Gimli cried.

Thranduil cast him a disinterested glance. "They amount to the same thing in my estimation."

"I understand, I truly do," Gimli pressed on, hoping he was getting through. "In a moment of anger I too wished to see them all dead. But given time I realized more death and suffering will not help matters, Thranduil. It will not help Legolas."

All hoped died with one look in the elven king's wintry eyes.

"Were it so, it would not matter," Thraduil replied. "Anyone who does not seek retribution out of some false sense of nobility is the greater fool." Seemingly finished with the dwarf, his next words were addressed to Faramir. "No man shall be allowed to leave your city until this matter is resolved to my satisfaction."

"Surely you realize that Aragorn will hear news of your arrival despite such measures. You have no doubt been seen across the countryside by many people," Faramir reasoned.

The great shoulders shrugged, displacing the large insect sitting there for a moment before it settled back down to alight on its perch once more. "It matters not - by the time such news reaches his ears and the information confirmed, our business here will be long concluded."

The tent flap was swept aside suddenly, and Lenwe entered, an intricate short sword clasped in one hand, a unique diadem in the other. He did not look nor speak to Gimli or Faramir, but stepped forward at Thranduil's nod to hand him the circlet while he buckled the sword belt at the king's trim waist. Once the weapon was in place, he took back the crown and while Thranduil gathered up his long hair, lifting it out of the way, slid the diadem up behind his head to curve over and sit upon his ears. The unconnected ends of the piece swept up across the elf's temples and back over his forehead to settle up and over the top of his skull. To Gimli they looked like antelope horns or the antenna of a great butterfly pressed molded to his skull.

"You will take me into the city and to my son," Thranduil informed them, once he was properly attired. "Now."

And Gimli and Faramir had no choice but to agree.


	8. chapter 7b

Part 7b

Despite the languidness of his limbs and the fuzziness about his vision, Legolas' nerves were signing. There was a current of anticipation in his very bones and blood which would not let him rest. Ears straining to pick up any sound beyond the closed room, he let Éowyn's senseless babble flow over him like water over the pebbles of a riverbed.

He attempted to follow her words when she first arrived to speak to him, ignoring the guard standing discreetly by the door but never taking his eyes off his abnormally sluggish form. He thought he caught his father's name and something about an army and the village, but he could not be certain. He found it difficult to focus and retain anything which spilled from her mouth, discovering it put him to sleep more than kept his attention.

In the muffled distance he thought he perceived the sound of hurried footsteps, but he could not be sure with the chatter by his ear. Furrowing his brow, he concentrated harder on the noises outside in the hall but found the drug had ably dulled all his sense. He rolled his head towards Éowyn, who sat on a chair by the head of his bed.

"Be quiet," he attempted to snap, but the command most assuredly came out as a slumberous flop.

Éowyn stopped talking and stared at him, seemingly surprised he was awake at all, let alone coherent enough to be speaking to her.

"Oh, I am sorry, Legolas, were you attempting to sleep, I could"

"I told you to keep silent," Legolas repeated peevishly. "I am attempting to listen to something in the hall."

Éowyn's mouth was drawn in a slight "o," and she turned towards the doorway.

"I hear nothing."

Legolas was about to tell her did not expect her to, until his ears unquestionably caught the distinct sound of footsteps outside in the hall. Moments later the door was flung open as Lenwe and three elven warriors burst in, Gimli and Faramir close on their heels. But it was the splendid figure in royal crimson, gold flashing upon his proud head, which had his complete attention.

His father stood there in the entrance to the room, jaw set, eyes sweeping his surroundings until they settled on him.

Before Legolas could say anything, or even attempt to struggle into a sitting position, Éowyn leapt to her feet and bowed low.

"Your Majesty," she greeted.

His father's attention was diverted to her for a moment before he looked back to Faramir and Gimli.

"Who is this?" he asked, hardly interested but determined to discover who had been left alone with his son.

"This is my wife, Éowyn," Faramir supplied.

Thranduil appeared to accept the reply and strode forward toward the bed forcing Éowyn to step aside with a pointed look and the bulk of his body. Dropping down to his knees, he reached out and smoothed imaginary strands of hair back from Legolas' face.

"Legolas," he crooned, gently thumbing a fading bruise near a prominent cheekbone.

"My lord father," Legolas husked back in Sindarin, swallowing hard when his voice almost failed him.

"None of that," Thranduil smiled gently.

"They will not let me outside," Legolas told him earnestly. "I need to see the sky after…" and this time his voice did crack, tears welling in his eyes.

"Shhh, I know. I will take you outside and away from here," his father promised.

"How did you come to be here?" Legolas asked, perplexed.

The corners of Thranduil's eyes crinkled. "I rode a horse."

Legolas threw him a long-suffering look, and his father chuckled softly. The sound did more to relax Legolas than the entire draught forced upon him.

"I may not have a mirror or Peredhil blood in my veins, but when it comes to my own flesh, blood, and spirit, the wind, rain, and very stones speak to me. I was on my way to you long before you were trapped in the dark."

"And the girl and the villagers?" Legolas asked hopefully.

The softness left Thranduil's face. "Shall be dealt with once you are well."

Satisfied for the moment, Legolas nodded his head and slipped his arms around his father's neck as he bent down to lift him into his arms. As they turned back to the crowd in the room, Lenwe stepped forward to help Thranduil with his burden, but the king shook his head. Legolas, for his part, clung to his father, answering Lenwe and the warriors' bows with a quiet greeting of his own.

"Our healer said he should not go outside in his condition," Faramir interjected as he watched Thranduil make for the door.

"I care for what your healer has to say about as much as a care for orcish poetry. If my son's current state is any indication of his skill, he no doubt confuses his rear end for his elbow." Sweeping past those assembled, the three warriors leading the way through the door and Lenwe following behind him, Thranduil turned one last time. "Remember, no one leaves the city except with my express permission."

"You cannot hold this land hostage indefinitely," Faramired argued. "It is a hostile act and could lead to war."

"I doubt very much Elessar is stupid enough to court conflict with the woodelves over a paltry little village. In fact, if he claims to be such a friend to our people, and to my son in particular, he should aid us and not hinder us." Thranduil looked away from Faramir to stare with overemphasized interest at the uncharacteristically silent dwarf. "Is that not right, Gimli Elf-Friend?"

Gimli was unable to return the look. "I know not," he replied dully.

Thranduil clucked. "Perhaps you should decide before you come calling again," Thranduil

suggested, turning back to leave.

As Gimli watched him go, Legolas, half asleep, peer over his father's shoulder.

"Come this evening, Gimli," he told his friend. "We shall look at the stars like you promised. And bring Arod!"

Giving himself a shake, the dwarf called out. "Aye, I will be there." But by time he spoke, the elves had disappeared through the door and down the hall out of sight.


	9. chapter 8

Note: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the first 7 parts of the story,they weregreatly appreciated and encouraging. Now on with the show.

Part 8

Gimli's second foray through the elven encampment stationed outside the gates of the city was no more comfortable than the last. In fact it might be less so. Alone this time, without the company of even Faramir, the dwarf distinctly felt his vulnerability amongst this gaggle of armed and angry elves. A feeling he was none to happy for experiencing. Of course if he were to be literal he was not technically alone; Arod plodded along eagerly at his side, head down, eyes and ears attentive, as if he knew where they were going and who they were going to meet.

He would not have to wait long. As soon as the yellow top of the large pavilion was in sight the horse quickened his pace, whickering softly. Gimli himself was forced to break into a rolling dwarven trot to keep up with the silly beast. As he drew nearer he could make out the sound of someone humming formlessly; the improvised tune no doubt what had captured Arod's attention, for it was fair and the voice quite familiar.

The softly stampeding animal quickly cleared their way through the milling elves and before long they burst into the clearing surrounding the royal pavilion.

Both the horse and the dwarf's eyes automatically sought out and alighted upon the originator of the voice. There lying upon his back in the grass before the tent was Legolas. His feet were bare and brushed over the tops of the yellowing blades in rhythm with his humming, while his hands did the same. His gaze was unwavering and true, fixed up into the vault of the sky, catching and noting the emergence of each star as twilight descended.

Thranduil was nowhere in sight but Gimli knew he could not be far; he would not be parted from his son so soon, of that he was certain. He was most likely lurking inside the tent within hearing distance and might very well be waiting to leap out and fall upon Gimli like the hungry lion he resembled. The notion was ludicrous of course but Gimli could not help but be on guard, throwing the entrance to the tent the occasional paranoid glance.

"He is not waiting cudgel in hand ready for your arrival," Legolas' voice interrupted his vision of a feral elf king rending his flesh from his bones to sup upon like a giant cat.

Pulling his attention away from his entirely possible impending doom back to the figure sprawled upon the ground, Gimli saw that Arod had wasted no time in worrying about hidden elf-lions. Lion-elfs?

The equine stood over Legolas, neck bent down low as he lipped golden hair, slobbered over pale skin and breathed gusts of warm, moist air across an indulgent face. Legolas for his part bore it all with a pleased smile, arms coming up to encircle the muscular neck not unlike a similar embrace bestowed upon his father that morning.

"How can you be sure of that?" Gimli asked, walking closer to the pair. "He has been wanting to bludgeon me from your side often enough I would venture."

"I have asked you to come. And while he might not hold the greatest of affections for you he does for me, and you are my friend," was his reply.

Gimli huffed, fully aware that if Thranduil was in the tent he could hear every word. Why he probably had one pointy ear pressed firmly to the canvas in order to hear better!

"It did not stop him from his grand harangue toward Faramir and myself."

Pushing Arod's head out of the way as he sat up Legolas leveled a serious stare at Gimli.

"It was his love for me which incited such a reaction, I fault him not."

"Perhaps that is part of the problem," Gimli pointed out.

Legolas did not reply, but how a face with such fine features could produce such an ugly expression was beyond Gimli. The message was clear, however, and he let the matter drop in fear for his life.

Grabbing Arod by the mane Legolas hauled himself to his feet, coughing only slightly once he was upright.

"You sound much better," Gimli observed, willing to change the direction of the conversation himself, though he doubted the safety of this particular subject as well.

"It is the free air," Legolas told him. "Despite cook fires and dust, as I told that charlatan of a healer."

"I will be sure to pass the sentiment along," Gimli chuckled dryly.

"Regardless of what everyone believes I know what will aid me and what will not," Legolas said stiffly.

"Everyone?" Gimli's eyebrows rose.

"It seems my father was informed I should not be exposed to the out-of-doors and for some reason took the advice to heart. I woke once again not to the sky as I have asked so often, but to the canvas of the tent above me." He paused to grin sheepishly. "I am afraid I did not react in a comely fashion. They managed to stamp out the fire on the rug with admirable speed but I do not believe my father's crown will ever recover its original shape. Although his hair will grow back quickly enough I would wager."

It was meant to be amusing, and if Gimli thought he was exaggerating it might be, but considering recent events the dwarf knew Legolas was quite serious about the extent of his outburst.

"This is not like you, my friend," he regarded the elf seriously.

Legolas' slight smile vanished, and Gimli was pained to see it go.

"It is not like me to cast spells and violate young girls but apparently I do that as well."

That was undeniably in bad taste and Gimli told him so.

"If I can not jest about this then I will surely go mad," Legolas reasoned.

Gimli surmised he was teetering on the brink none the less, despite his efforts, but refused to express such a though out loud.

"Then you must open your eyes and realize this is madness, Legolas," he said instead. "Allowing those people to be punished without Aragorn's knowledge or authorization shall only make matters worse. The people of this land will fear you more, see you as a threat."

Legolas sighed. "And if we do nothing we will be seen as weak, easy targets. Either course will end with undesirable consequences, but at least this way we will be authors of our own fate. Surely that is better than sitting by passively waiting for the end."

"Ah, but you and your people have another way," Gimli pointed out.

Legolas jerked. "I will not be driven from my home before I am ready!" he hissed. "Not by the Valar, not by kith and kin, and most certainly not by ignorant men. They deserve everything brought down upon them for what they have done to me! They shall reap their reward for sowing me into the ground like a crop in springtime."

In spite of himself Gimli took a step back from his friend, not sure he even recognized the being before him. When they had pulled him from the ground they might very well have left his conciliatory nature and respect for men behind to languish in the dirt.

"And what of the others?" he tried another approach. "The elves of Rivendell and Lórien? Think you they will be unaffected, that they will be spared. The queen of Gondor holds ties in both lands, surely they will not stand by and do nothing?"

"Imladris and the Golden Wood are almost deserted now, without their magic rings to shield them their inhabitants have fled over the sea. They have not the numbers or power to oppose us and would do well to remain friends with the last elven realm of any consequence here." Legolas tossed his head. "Enough of this, I did not ask you here to argue."

"Then why did you ask me here?" Gimli almost whispered, he could have been Gandalf himself and it seemed Legolas would not listen.

Surprisingly he seemed hurt by the question. "Because we are friends. Because you saved my life this time as you always have. Because I need your strength."

Expressed in such a manner Gimli felt like a right mule headed wretch. His Legolas was still there, bruised and battered and guarded like a wounded deer, but still his friend.

Making a decision he stepped forward clasping Legolas' arm. "Then you shall have it."

For Thranduil was right. It seemed he was either with them or against them, and no matter how he viewed Legolas' decisions or choices he would support him. His own anger had caused him to lash out at the town's people but in time it had cooled and a clear head had prevailed, perhaps given more time Legolas and his father's would as well. One could only hope.

Catching sight of the triumphant and fierce gleam in his friend's eyes challenged said hope quite quickly.

A slight commotion and the arrival of two elves hauling a cloaked man between them quashed it altogether.

The elves paid Gimli little mind as they marched up to Legolas, bowing as best they could with the man squirming in their grasp. Finally loosing patience one kicked him behind the knees to drop him to the ground in a parody of respect.

"My lord," one addressed him. "This man was apprehended as he attempted to steal away from the city in secret."

"He carried this with him, my lord," the other said holding out a wax sealed missive.

Glancing at the letter and then to the man Legolas pursed his lips.

"I need not read this to know what it says, will I?" he asked, shoulders tensing. "I esteemed Faramir wiser than to attempt such a thing. It would seem my disappointment in the race of men knows no bounds these black days."

"While under normal circumstances this attempt at defying me would warrant censure," a voice thrummed from behind them, "I shall be gracious, for it saves me another distasteful trek into the city."

They all turned to see Thranduil silhouetted in the entrance to the tent, hands on hips.

Ha! Gimli knew he had been there all along!

"Come along then," he addressed the envoy. "I have a message for your master." And he turned to sweep back inside.

Legolas looked after his father for a moment then turned to motion the other two elves to back away from their captive. The man scrambled to his feet and after a quick darting survey of his surroundings his shoulders slumped. No escape.

Taking the sealed letter Legolas dismissed the two warriors before herding the messenger along to the tent silently. Gimli followed along ready to jump in if things escalated out of hand. He would not have his friend guilty of a real crime.

Entering the tent Gimli found the interior much changed. Surrounded by the darkness of night the soft, warm light of the sun's filtered rays was gone. In its stead a series of bronze lamps in the shape of swan boats hung on chains from the tent's wooden struts, a dimmer, flickering light bouncing about the canvass walls. The fine rugs had been rolled up, either in deference to Legolas' need to feel growing things beneath his feet or in hopes of saving them from further incendiary temper tantrums.

Thranduil was sitting at the small table this time, gently tapping one long finger onto its surface, his head slightly cocked as he consider them.

"I will not have it said that Thranduil son of Oropher is prone to flights of madness and irrationality," he finally said, pointedly lingering on Gimli for a moment. "Tell Prince Faramir that he shall be allowed to accompany us to the village and observe the…proceedings. We leave at first light."

"And what of Aragorn?" Legolas asked shocked, holding the letter up slightly for emphasis. "If warned he will attempt to intervene."

Thranduil stood, walking over to pluck the parchment from his son's hand. "I am being magnanimous not imbecilic," he sneered slightly, quickly tossing the letter into a nearby brazier as if it were ridden with lice. "For the first time in his life the Dúnedain King shall not ride to the rescue. And if by some miracle he does he shall learn as that village shall learn; the power of the elves may be fading but it has yet to forsake these shores."

Gimli was uncertain whether the words were prophetic or not, but sworn to their side he would surely find out.

Suppressing a shiver he looked down and watched as the discarded message caught, flared and burned, the red wax bearing Faramir's seal melting until it resembled a splotch of blood.


	10. chapter 9

Note: Thanks again to all those who took the time to drop a quick review. As always, kind words and wishes back to you all!

Part 9

He never considered himself craven, and those who knew him, or met him in passing, would most likely support this view of himself. It was with great confusion, therefore, that he sat cross legged on the cool grass inside the tent, the world around him dark and oppressive as the hanging lamps burned down low. He could not make himself fall into what constituted sleep for the race of elves, nor spur palsied limps to move. He was paralyzed in a disconcerting concentration on the coming dawn and their departure for the village. His father, at his insistence, had gone off to oversee preparations, leaving Legolas to what he thought would be welcomed solitude. Now mired in an almost silent and still panic he regretted his decision to send him away.

It seemed the very thought of returning to the scene of his humiliation and interment was enough to do what standing at the very steps of Mordor itself could not. The only other time in his adult life he could recall suffering such fright was at the approach of the Balrog while trapped under a cursed mountain. That the feelings welling up inside him at the prospect of returning and facing those men who wronged him was comparable to those when faced with a creature of fire and shadow, a bane to all his kind, both confused and shamed him. His only comfort was that his father and Gimli would be at his side.

Aragorn. Aragorn would not. Legolas was not sure he would ever be again, for once the Gondorian king was told of their actions, once he discovered he was purposefully left in the dark and dismissed, he was not sure he would ever forgive him. He would be astoundingly angry, there was no doubt in his mind. His reaction would most likely rival the destruction of the Orodruin, visible by the inhabitants of Valinor itself.

He was brought from his thoughts when suddenly a tentative weight settled on his shoulder. He startled in alarm, unable to stifle a slight cry, blinking wide eyes in the dimness of the tent to see Lenwe crouched over him. The other's hand was pulled tight to his chest where he must have jerked it back in equal surprise at Legolas' reaction to his touch.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said, face shuttered and sad. "I did not mean to surprise you but you did not respond when I called your name, I thought you were deep in reverie."

"Perhaps I was," Legolas murmured, relaxing his bow taunt muscles.

"I should have thrown off those dwarves and sliced my way to your side and out of that accused place!" Lenwe suddenly declared fervently as he looked upon his prince.

Legolas graced him with a doting smile. "The attempt would have been admirable but failed in the end, and you would have found yourself buried by my side."

"Better by your side than not, it was my duty to protect you and in that I did fail."

"None could have foreseen what occurred," Legolas attempted to sooth him.

"Your father did," Lenwe pointed out.

"He has ever been able to chart my spirit's path. My distress must have been so great it flew to him before its very conception," he mused.

"Or the Valar sent him the vision that he might go to you and wreak vengeance upon those who would harm you. As he has done and will do."

Legolas smirked. "Who could argue with such reasoning?"

"The dwarf and that man," Lenwe exclaimed only half jokingly.

"Which man? I have been in contact with many these past few days, a fact which pains me greatly."

"The lord of this land, Faramir."

Taking a proffered hand to help him rise to his feet Legolas tugged on one of the dark braids hanging over Lenwe's shoulder. "Be careful, if you malign him you will have to deal with his wife. She would gut you and feed the entrails to her horse."

Lenwe wrenched his head to the side, pulling his captured hair free of Legolas' grip. "I would like to see her try."

"Oh no my friend, utter not such words, she is fierce," he warned.

"I dealt with you and your rampage today did I not? After that a woman with her skirts hiked up and a sword in hand is but a gnat to me!"

Legolas sobered quickly at this.

"I am sorry about that, Lenwe," he apologized. "I was angry and I know not why. Such fury is not in my nature."

Lenwe shook his head. "Such fury is in all our natures," he explained. "Even the field mouse will turn and bite, given the proper circumstances. As to why, we all know full well; 'tis that town and that girl and the shadows of injustice. But it will soon pass for retribution is on the horizon trailing on the rays of the morning sun."

Legolas raised an eyebrow and Lenwe laughed, clapping him once on the shoulder.

"Dawn breaks, my lord. We prepare to leave!"

Startled Legolas stood still for a moment, focusing. Surprised, he perceived the approach of daybreak. He must have sat on the ground reflecting much longer than he thought. It would appear dark thoughts could indeed consume one to the exclusion of all else.

Slapping Lenwe on the shoulder as well, he smiled at him. He would fear no longer. While darkness abounded it always fled with the sunrise.

The sky was lightening but the sun had yet to rise up from the far horizon as Legolas and Lenwe made their way to where the horses were kept. All around them the campsite was dismantling, fires extinguished, and tents folded up and away. The entire party would be leaving the city behind. Thranduil did not want to leave any of his people separated from the rest, to fend for themselves once Anragorn was warned of the situation. They would all go to the village, meet up with the contingent of warriors left stationed there, and leave together for the woods once their business was concluded. All long before the king or any of his men could arrive to muck matters up. If, after all was said and done, Faramir attempted to renege on his land grant to Legolas and his colonists he would find mere words insufficient. While a merry and quiet folk, once something was perceived as belonging to the Silvan elves it was near impossible to take it away. Why simply ask those minions of Sauron who occupied Southern Mirkwood…if any were left alive of course.

They heard Faramir's voice before they saw him.

"You expect me to accept this condition?" he said testily.

"Of course I do, for if you do not you will not be coming at all," Legolas heard his father's voice reply. "You will be quite safe, I assure you, we shall protect you if needs be."

"Why do I not find this comforting in the least," Faramir fumed, turning to look at Legolas and Lenwe as they rounded a tent to join the assemblage.

There stood Faramir, the magistrate, Gimli and Frer, as well as Thranduil and two of his commanders.

Sidling up to Gimli's side Legolas leaned down to whisper. "What are they arguing about now?" he asked.

"The soldiers Faramir intended to bring with him were turned away at the edge of the camp. Your father said he was not going to allow Gondorian soldiers to accompany them to the village, no matter how small the number," Gimli relayed.

"Faramir was deceiving himself to think otherwise," Legolas scoffed. "You should count yourselves lucky that the magistrate and Frer are permitted to come along."

"They were present during certain events," Gimli explained. "Your father insisted they come."

"Ah," Legolas sounded as he straightened.

"Speak no more of it!" his father finally raised a hand. "You will do as I say or we shall leave you behind. It was out of deference to your authority over these people that I am allowing you to come at all, do not make me regret my decision."

"If you respect the fact that they are my responsibility than you would allow me to handle the situation!" Faramir practically stomped his foot in frustration.

"If you would settle the situation in the manner I wish it to be settled then I would!" Thranduil shot back before turning away from Faramir completely; dialogue ended.

"My heart, your rest was poor," he stepped over to Legolas and rested his hands on his shoulders, peering into his face.

Legolas tipped his head in acknowledgement. "I was restless, yes."

"Returning to the village worries you," Thranduil stated.

Legolas tipped his head further.

"Worry not," his father grinned, squeezing the muscles under his hands. "You are amongst your people now, and even have your dwarf friend here." Looking over to Gimli and Frer he shrugged. "There are two of them at that. Though I know not how this improves things."

Gimli scowled up at the elven king, Frer following suit once he realized Gimli was not a smoking pile of ash beside him.

Just then a pure ray of light streamed to bathe them all and the little group turned to the East.

"Mount up," Thranduil ordered as he watched the first fragment of the sun rise from the ground beyond them. "Anor shows its face at last."

The command was relayed along the camp and soon those elves with horses swung up onto the backs of their eager mounts, while those on foot settle light packs upon their shoulders, buckling weapons in place.

Lenwe walked over to Legolas, both his strawberry roan and Arod in tow.

"Thank you," Legolas said as he ran his hand up Arod' velvet mussel. "Ready, Gimli?" he asked the dwarf making ready to help him up onto the horse's back.

"Frer and I shall share a mount, Legolas," the dwarf replied.

"What?" Legolas asked confused.

"Éowyn was kind enough to lend us a calm mare of hers, a gentle spirit willing to suffer two sacks of stones bumping along her spine," Gimli jested. "Besides, I doubt any of your kin would endure a dwarven bur as well as you do."

"Faramir could…" Legolas trailed off.

"In his present mood, do you think I would inflict Faramir on poor Frer? Or the opposite for that matter?"

"Are you doing this because you are vexed with me?" Legolas finally asked.

"No, ladie," Gimli replied quietly. "I swore to stand by you and shall not break with that promise. I am simply being practical."

"Since the moment I met you," Legolas agreed, leaping up onto Arod.

"Sorry I can not say the same for you," Gimli gruffed. "Damn flighty you wood elves are, I can tell you that."

Legolas looked down at him, flashing a mouthful of white which sparkled in the morning sun, one ear trained on his father behind him as he ordered the party to begin its trek.

"Yes, but even the field mouse has teeth."


	11. chapter 10

Note: A special thanks goes to Jebb who left me two great reviews following the last two parts I posted. Thanks bunches!

Part 10

For all the beauty and brilliance of the morn by mid day a sea of ominous clouds could be seen rolling in from the north. Dark gray with rain they roiled like boiling water, threatening a great deal of rain, as well as heralding a cold wind and a thorough blotting of the sun. Under normal circumstances such weather would hardly be worth noting for a group of elves; changes in conditions, whether it be cold, heat, rain or snow affected them very rarely. However, with the current mood penetrating the party as they drew closer and closer to the village the rain, and drop in temperature, could only fray already tattered nerves and dampen already gloomy spirits.

Despite quickening their pace in the hopes of reaching shelter before the downpour the clouds overhead cooperated very little, promptly opening up a deluge of rain drenching men, dwarves, elves and horses in but a few moments. Clothes soaked through to the skin, beards dripped, horses slumped in unhappiness at the irrationality of the two legged folk who were silly enough to go traveling about in the rain, and gusts of wind blew stinging raindrops into everyone's eyes.

It was a wet and bedraggled assembly, therefore, which arrived at the small, seemingly innocent, settlement in the countryside of Ithilien. Upon second glace, however, one could make out several small campsites surrounding the town; an encircling ring of sentries with tents pitched, horses grazing free, and fires sputtering and faltering in the rain despite their keepers' best efforts at sheltering them.

A trio of forms broke away from one of the camps and rode out to meet the approaching party, their sharp elven features becoming apparent the closer they drew. Both Thranduil and Legolas, their hair darkened and dimmed by the water, nudged their mounted forward to the greet them.

"My lords," the arrivals spoke in unison, bowing their heads and touching a closed first to their breasts.

Thranduil returned the welcome with a slight tilt of his own head. "Report," he requested in Silvan; he and he alone would decide what information Faramir would be privy.

"It has been relatively quiet, Your Majesty," one of the elves replied. "We set up a perimeter around the village to prevent any of the men from fleeing, and so far none have made an attempt. The villagers have been cautious and keep to themselves mostly, and we have not been forced to implement any measures beyond a strong warning when the odd one becomes excessively hostile or belligerent."

"You have not been approached?" Thranduil asked.

"Quite the opposite, my lord, the men seem to make an effort to avoid coming near us, the streets have been virtually deserted since we settle in."

"They are most likely afraid you will suck out their life's strength," Legolas muttered casting a jaundiced eye toward the village.

All three elves as well as his father looked to him with questioning eyes. Legolas waved them off.

"Very well," Thranduil said. "Keep your posts; the likelihood of an exodus shall increase greatly now that we have arrived to settle matters. I shall deploy the rest of our people to your positions while a contingent escorts the prince, the men, the dwarves and I to their main hall."

Legolas started at this news. "Are you sure we wish to proceed within the town?" he asked uneasy. "It would be much safer to bring the people concerned here, where we are not in the midst of the entire population."

Thranduil shook his head. "Despite what many may think this shall be done properly, which means it must unfold within their place of justice. There may be citizens we will be required to call upon as well, and I do not wish to suffer through the delays it would require to go back into the town and find them. Besides it is raining."

The king turned his horse and trotted back to speak with his troops, the three elven warriors following behind, leaving Legolas perched upon Arod's back to stare off at the ominous town through the curtain of rain.

He could not tell whether it was the water in his eyes but his vision seemed to blur, each progressive breath hitching just a little bit more as his chest tightened. It almost felt as if his heart faltered, and with it his strength, for he began to sway in his seat threatening to tumble to the ground. Opening his mouth to call out to his father he found he had no voice, and a pained whimper of distress was the only sound which came forth, the wet wind easily snatching it from his throat and flinging it away.

"Elf!"

A voice to his right and a touch to his knee wrench his body back under his control as he reflexively kicked out catching something solid with his softly shod foot, sending it tumbling away from him. The clank which followed, as well as the surprised curse from a suddenly familiar voice, finally penetrated the suffocating haze which had enveloped him. Looking to his right he saw Frer sitting unsteadily upon the small borrowed mare, wide eyes staring at Legolas. Further down was Gimli, struggling to sit up from his sprawling position on the ground

"Ai, Gimli," Legolas exclaimed, sliding from Arod's back to go to his friend's side, his limbs still shaky. Kneeling by him he proffered a hand to help him sit up. "Are you well?"

Gimli swiped the hand away and sat up on his own, rubbing his jaw with one square hand.

"Fine, fine. Luckily for me elves do not tend to wear steel tipped boots as is the wont of dwarven miners. Now that is painful."

Legolas let his hands drop to the softened ground. "If you would all stop startling me this would not keep happening!" he suggested.

"You have been more easily startled of late," Gimli opined. He looked at the elf's downcast eyes and still labored breath and reached out to touch one of the hands curling into the rained soaked earth. "Are you well?"

Pulling his hand out from under the dwarf's, a fistful of mud clasp within, Legolas turned it over and watched as he rubbed the soppy soil between his pale fingers. "Yes, I think, I think it must be the damp affecting my recently healed lungs. I will be fine."

"Of course," Gimli agreed acerbically.

Catching the tone Legolas frowned, striking out with lightening quick reflexes to smear a glop of mud into the dwarf's incredulous face. Sitting back on his heels he regarded his handy work and smirked.

Before Gimli could retaliate Thranduil rode up, the perturbed frown upon his face imitating his son's previous expression quite expertly.

"What are you doing wallowing around in the mud with that dwarf, Legolas?" he asked.

"Making pies for evening meal, my lord," Legolas replied sweetly, looking up at his father, water dripping off his nose like a spout.

Thranduil wrinkled his own nose. "Enough nonsense, get on your mount that we may proceed. I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

Legolas rose to his feet. "Father, I still do not think…"

"We are going into that village, Legolas," Thranduil replied firmly. "You have nothing to fear, they can hurt you no longer. You will go there as a prince of your people and face them without cringing like a beaten dog."

Legolas stiffened. "Yes, my lord," he replied staunchly.

Thranduil smiled down at him. "That is my leaf, buffeted but never broken." He nudged his horse forward. "Come."

Helping Gimli to his feet Legolas boosted the dwarf back into position in front of Frer, turning to Arod once the task was accomplished.

"He knows you quite well," Faramir noised as he slowly passed by.

"What faithful father does not?" Legolas asked as he vaulted onto Arod's back.

"Tue enough, but how many use that knowledge with such ruthlessness?" Gimli asked conversationally.

"I will thank him in the end," Legolas reasoned.

"If you are certain."

Saying no more Legolas barked a command to Arod, spurring the horse into a canter, and made after his father; Gimli and Faramir shared a glance before they too moved on at a statelier pace.

* * *

The rain slackened into a drizzle by the time they entered the borders of the village and the assemblage stopped to quickly change into dry clothing and new cloaks. Hair was brushed and rearranged, mud washed away. They would be nothing but impeccable when they faced the perpetrators.

As reported the streets were almost completely deserted, the people opting to stay inside their homes for the duration of the town's occupation. The occasional old man hobbled down the street or a woman ventured outside to collect water from the overflowing rain barrels. When they came across such individuals they would stop and stare as they passed, usually ducking into doorways or between buildings to make themselves as unobtrusive as possible.

All the same Legolas could feel their eyes finding and following him, his skin crawling with the sensation. It took every ounce of his considerable will not to turn Arod around and gallop back out into the open fields. Only fear of his father's disappointment stayed him; that and his vow to see these people made accountable for what they had done.

The lightheadedness he experienced earlier was returning with each of Arod's hoof falls, the animal's gate heavy as he sunk deep into the mud paved streets. When they finally emerged into the center square his pulse was pounding in his temples, every ounce of his blood ready to explode from his body once he set eyes upon the stake driven into the ground.

Mercifully the only thing which burst from his chest was a pent up breath. The post was still present, standing there with drops of water rolling down its rough surface as if it were weeping, a half dozen elven arrows protruding from its length. Vanquished.

"I see some of the troops were kind enough to demonstrate to these people the skill of elven archery," Thranduil commented.

"We needed a target for practice, my lord," one elf replied. "It was…convenient."

Thranduil nodded in satisfaction and cast a glace over his shoulder to Legolas who gazed back stoically. He turned back around as the sound of the hall's large wooden doors creaking open echoed through the rain muffled stillness. A broad elf with cinnamon tresses exited, picking his way through the mud and puddles to Thranduil's side.

"You brought him?" Thranduil asked.

"Yes, my lord, he is here," the elf replied quietly. "Not without a great deal of grumbling mind you."

"One would think they would be far less cantankerous with a bevy of elves prowling about their lands," Lenwe commented from his position beside Legolas.

"False bravado is the preference of cowardly, desperate men," Thranduil mused. "Is that not right, Lord Faramir," he called over to Ithilien's prince.

"I would not know," Faramir replied. "I have known few in my lifetime."

"Yet you lord over a land which has a town full of them," Thranduil pondered. "Come let us get inside and out of this foul weather," he continued as if the exchange had not happened at all.

Dismounting, Thranduil, Legolas, Lenwe, the two darves, Faramir, the magistrate and the cinnamon haired elf made their way inside while the remaining elves tended to the horses and kept watch outside the hall. Once inside they found the town's justice sitting sulkily at his table, two more elves standing on either side of him. As they entered the justice leapt to his feet.

"Lord Faramir I demand to know what's going on!" he seethed. "These elves have been harassing us for days now, allowing none to leave the town. Just now they dragged me from my house into the rain with no explanation what so ever."

"You have no one but yourselves to blame!" Faramir spat. "I have been trying my best to manage matters but surely you realized your actions towards an elven prince could not go unnoticed or ignored."

"And surely his actions towards a member of this community could not go unnoticed or ignored!" the justice shot back.

"Imprisonment, public humiliation and live burial without a proper hearing, as well as lying to authorities, does not seem like an appropriate response to an unsubstantiated claim of some vague crime," Faramir pointed out. "You have put both the king, when he finds out, and I into an almost impossible situation."

"You have been told before, this is none of your or Elessar's concern. This town belongs to us and therefore we manage our own affairs."

"Well then," a new voice purred. All eyes turned toward Thranduil who stepped forward, pulling back the hood of his cloak. "Given that, at the moment, this town belongs to the elves, we shall manage matters as we see fit."

"Who do you think you are to…" the justice stormed forward but was quickly restrained by the elves at his side, each grasping him by the shoulder to yank him back into place.

"I," Thranduil stated anger mounting, "I am a king born of an eternal people who will walk under trees long after the citadel of Gondor crumbles to dust. I am the being who holds your contemptible little village in the palm of his hand. And most importantly I am his father," he pointed over to a subdued Legolas.

The justice followed the finger and flinched imperceptibly when he met Legolas' weary face.

"Listen to me and listen well," Thranduil continued. "You will escort these fine elves," he indicated the justice's two companions, "to fetch anyone of importance for these proceedings. You will return here where we shall hear evidence with regards to the girl's claims and to my son's ordeal. To ease tensions I have decided to allow Lord Faramir's magistrate lead in the questioning. Once all have had their say, however, I and I alone will decide the fates of those involved. Have I made myself clear?"

The dumbfounded magistrate nodded. Thranduil then looked over to Faramir and he too acknowledged the king's declaration, only too happy to have his own man involved in the process. It was a small concession, but it was a step in the right direction.

Seemingly satisfied Thranduil motioned for the elves to escort the justice out, but before they were half way across the room a commotion could be heard from outside. When it did not cease they quizzically moved to the doors to peer out.

A man was standing in the square, a heavy burden clasped in his arms, a small group of people following behind him. He was shouting at the assembled elves, while in response murmured Sindarin expletives were beginning to emerge, many bows already having been drawn. Taking in the scene Thranduil stepped out.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Murderers!" the man cried brandishing the form in his arms.

With a second look it soon became evident what it was. A body.

"You have invaded our home and now you have murdered him!"

Less audible exclamations were rumbling from the emerging crowd of men but it was the body which held most everyone's attention. There protruding from the dead man's chest was a single elven arrow.


	12. chapter 11

Note: We're nearing the end of this tale folks, two more chapters to go after this one. Again thanks to the reviewers, they are as always appreciated and enjoyed.

Part 11

Gimli was the standing stone amongst the maelstrom; noise and movement exploding around him in a veritable display of racial stupidity and futility. The men across the square shouted and glowered and looked outraged, ready to commit murder themselves. The elves facing them were equally outraged, with a good dose of haughty indignation and wicked weaponry for good measure. The justice standing amongst the elves looked like a caged rabbit, itching to bolt  
across the way and join his brethren, if only he had the courage. Thranduil stood by, unusually quiet, observing the entire scene with simmering anger, powerful hands curled, ready to explode all over them. Looking on the bright side, such a cataclysm would leave nothing but a crater behind, solving all their problems in one fell swoop. Faramir looked pained and slightly nauseated and if one more worry was to settle upon his shoulders Gimli was sure there would be an equally impressive, if much more disgusting, explosion.

But it was Legolas literally trembling beside him which caught and held his attention. The normally tensile and lively body seemed frail and withering, as if all life and love and every good emotion was draining out of him to feed the chaos around him. Gimli could see the thoughts behind those clouding blue eyes, see his mind stumbling over the events unfolding before him. Men with accusations on their tongues and blame in their hearts were amassing before him, an unfortunately familiar scenario and one which he knew first hand could escalate out of control until lives were almost in ruins.

Before Gimli could ask after him the elf looked down on him blankly.

"We should never have come here. We should never have come back."

And with that he turned on his heels, strode back into the hall of justice and closed the heavy doors behind him, the sound of the large brace sliding into place to bar the doors from within following soon after.

Gimli stood and stared after him dumbfounded.

Whipping his head about he realized no one else noticed Legolas' frazzled reaction, nor his absolute departure from the scene. Completely incredulous he thundered his way over to the still seething Thranduil, elbowing his way past Lenwe and Faramir, and promptly stomped on the elven king's foot.

Thranduil hopped back with a snarl of pain, immediately returning the favor by cuffing Gimli on the side of the head with his closed fist. The dwarf rocked back but was not even sure Thranduil realized who had stepped on his toes, his reaction was that quick.

Refraining from striking the elf back, thus avoiding an all out brawl, Gimli glowered up at Legolas' father as the king stared down at him in kind; the look on his face plainly conveyed his disbelief at Gimli's actions. Lenwe and the other elves stood by mute and motionless as well, equally stunned by such an action.

"How dare you, you little…" Thranduil finally managed to sputter before Gimli cut him off.

"Shut your mouth for once in your immortal life and listen to me," Gimli hissed. "While you have been standing here fantasizing about how to squash this town, and all its inhabitants, under your ineffectual little shoes Legolas has barred himself in the hall, locking us all and the madness around him out!"

Confusion flitted across Thranduil's proud brow for a moment as he looked about his surroundings, searching for a golden head. None were to be found.

From the growing crowd of men someone stepped forward a large stick brandished in his hand, foulness spewing from his mouth. Promptly halting any further actions one of the elves gathered before the hall let loose an arrow which found its mark in the man's thigh. He howled and dropped to the muddy ground, a few people surging forward to drag him back. In seconds more rocks and sticks were sought. Death inched that much closer.

"We have to stop this now," Gimli told Thranduil. "We have to get this under control and resolve it before the son you knew decides to flee completely, leaving a stranger behind."

For a breath seizing moment Gimli did not think Thranduil would to listen, but after a beat the king of Eryn Lasgalen gave a curt nod of his head before striding down the steps and past the throng of elves, Gimli close on his heels.

Just as they were breaking out into the chasm between the two parties the men rushed forward, ready to pit themselves against the assembled elves before the troops surrounding the village could be called in and tip the balance in their favor.

Caught mid way between the two Gimli was sure they were about to die; trampled or riddled with arrows in the crossfire as the wood elves mowed down their adversaries. It was with speechless, but thankful, astonishment, therefore, that when the first twang of an arrow being released was heard no man fell dead to the earth and no arrow impacted upon his flesh. Instead he stood and stared in shocked amazement, the opposing mobs abruptly still and silent as well. There Thranduil stood, up to his ankles in the mud of the square, green fletched arrow tightly held in one clenched fist held out to the side of his body. A deliberate flick of his thumb and the arrow snapped in two, the pieces dropping to the ground.

In the ensuing stillness he carefully and slowly unbuckled his sword and dipped down to set it upon the ground at his feet, never taking his eyes off the crowd of men before him.

"Lower you weapons," he commanded, and Gimli was not certain whether he spoke to his people behind him or the men in front of him. Whatever the case both complied with equal alacrity and caution.

"I am King Thranduil Oropherion of Eryn Lasgalen," he addressed them all. "Despite my reasons for coming here I do not wish to see anyone injured or killed unnecessarily. I insist everyone in this square calm down and think rationally, that we might resolve this new…development before matters deteriorate as they have in the past."

"Do not speak to us about rationality you..." a man shouted from the crowd but was stopped prematurely by Thranduil's booming voice.

"I am speaking! If you do not wish for me to take this dwarf and shove him down your gullet I suggest you keep quiet."

There were no other objections.

"I will stake my life on the fact that no warrior under my command would have murder one of your citizens in cold blood," he continued. "You shall bring the victim forward and we shall discover the truth of the matter. Now."

Tentatively the man carrying the body stepped forward, lying the corpse down onto the ground once he advanced as close to Thranduil as he dared.

The elven king looked down upon the body, paying close attention to the arrow protruding from the man's chest, before turning and beckoning Faramir, the magistrate and the town's justice to join them. As the three men stepped up to the body to examine it Thranduil turned to the justice.

"Who is this man?" he asked.

"That is Faden, our miller's assistant. His family died of a fever a few years ago," the justice replied.

Looking to the crowd Thrnaduil spoke, "Is the miller amongst you?" When there was no reply he continued. "Have someone go fetch him then, so we might ask him some questions."

Not long after a small boy was dispatched from the crowd and sent off down the street.

"Where did you find the body?" the magistrate asked as he squatted down to get a better look at the arrow wound.

The man who had carried Faden to the square replied. "I came across him lying beside one of the public wells, a bucket turned over beside him. I assumed he was out collecting some water when one of them," he jerked his head towards the elves, "shot him down."

"Is it not strange that he would be out to collect water from the well when it was raining so hard? Everyone's rain barrels were overflowing," the magistrate mused.

"What difference does it make?" the justice demanded. "The arrow which killed him is clearly of elvish make."

"True," the magistrate replied as he stood. "But it is easy enough to buy elven arrows, especially with the Prince Legolas' colony so close by. Besides, we have but to look right here and now to find more."

They all turned to regard the post still standing in the square, at least a dozen arrows, some fletched with yellow, other's with green, bristling from it.

"There is also the question as to why an elf would murder this man," Gimli piped up.

"It matters not at all for an elf did not murder this man," Thranduil stated firmly.

"You have said so already," the justice sneered.

"I know it for a fact, now."

"Oh?" Faramir noised curiously.

Thranduil pointed to the arrow. "Look at the angle from which the arrow protrudes, it is much too sharp for it to have been shot from a standing position, and if the archer had been kneeling it would be angled downward not upward as it is now."

"Perhaps the archer was shooting from a rooftop?" the justice suggested.

"Perhaps, but why?" the magistrate asked.

"It was not shot by an archer at all," Thranduil continued. "The penetration is not deep enough. The force from an elven bow, even the lighter versions used by my people, would have penetrated far more deeply that this one."

The magistrate nodded. "Yes, I agree. Everything you have pointed out suggests that the arrow was used to stab this man in the chest, and if the angle is any indication the assailant was most likely quite a bit taller."

"This does not exclude an elf," the justice reasoned.

"It very nearly does," Faramir rejoined. "Why would an elf murder a man he does not know, for no plausible reason, using his arrow to stab when he had a perfectly good bow on hand, and then leave the most obvious evidence pointing toward an elven perpetrator behind?"

"It is equally improbably that a member of this community would kill Faden as well," the justice replied. "Again there is no motive."

As the assemblage mulled over current developments, a small group of newcomers emerged onto the square, the messenger boy leading the way.

"What is this about my apprentice being killed?" a man demanded as he walked towards Thranduil and the others.

Gimli almost swallowed his tongue as the identity of the town miller was revealed. There standing in the square was the father of the girl who accused Legolas, his two hulking sons and deceitful daughter following behind.

The girl took one look at the body lying dead in the mud before she screamed. Rushing to the fallen Faden's side she dropped to her knees to cradle the body close, tears of grief falling from her eyes.

"Faden! Oh, my Faden!" she sobbed.

Everyone stood back stunned for a moment until one of the girl's brothers stepped forward and yanked his sister to her feet.

"Stop it this instant you stupid girl!" he snarled shaking her hard enough to rattle teeth. "You are making a scene!"

"You," she hissed back, tears still streaming. "You did this!"

"What is going on?" the father asked his children completely bewildered.

Wrenching herself from her brother's grasp the girl looked to her father then to the people assembled around her, noting Gimli and the elves most likely for the first time. Eyes wide, her lips quivering, she sobbed out once before bolting away from the square, fleeing down a side street.

Harsh or not, Gimli reflected as he watched the girl's condemning retreat, he was never more happy to see a young man dead.


	13. chapter 12

Note: This is the second to last chapter people, I hope you all enjoy it. Props to the reviewers as always.

Part 12

"I must admit I am at a loss to what is going on here," Thranduil spoke once the girl down the street and from view.

"Then let me enlighten you, and everyone else here," Gimli replied. "For things are quite clear to me now. That," he pointing down the way the girl had run, "is the girl who accused Legolas of be-spellment and rape."

Finally being able to pin a face to the lie which had so devastated his son Thranduil's face turned stormy. To Gimli it looked a great deal like he was weighing the advantages and disadvantages of going after the girl himself and tearing her limb from limb, to staying put and listening to Gimli's explanation. When he did not leap away down the road the dwarf decided to continue.

"This," now he pointed to the corpse lying on the ground before them, "is what appears to be the father of her miscarried child and the catalyst behind her false claims against our elf."

At his proclamation the girl's father stepped forward incredulous. "Now wait just a moment! My daughter would never dishonor our family in such a way; the shame would be unbearable."

"Exactly!" Gimli exclaimed. "That is the very reason why your sons here, when they discovered their sister was dallying with the help, aided in her attempts to blame my friend. They even went so far as to provoke the rest of you into a frenzy, making sure your attention was focused on Legolas and not on the possible truth."

"Admar. Aden. Is this true?" the man turned and asked his sons, almost pleading with them to deny it.

"Father, you would take the word of this dwarf over your own children?" one of the young men said.

"I assume threatening the boy was no longer enough, you had to kill him to be certain he would not speak to us?" Gimli pressed on.

Casting a quick glance about them, and realizing the almost perceptible shift amongst the people surrounding them, the brothers straightened their backs and sneered.

"We were not the ones to accuse the elf. That was our sister's doing. If you wish to condemn someone let it be that little trollop!" Admar shouted.

A murmur of shock reverberated through the crowd.

"But it was you who insisted the elf be tied to the pole, to be buried in the field!" the justice announced, clearly appreciating the direction the wind was beginning to blow.

As the last word left the justice's mouth Thranduil acted. Not bothering to utter a word of recrimination he struck out before anyone could react, landing a solid blow to both Admar and Aden, sending them crashing to the ground. He stared down at them coolly as the two men shook themselves from their daze, one bleeding from a clearly broken nose, the other nursing a torn lip which had split spectacularly on his teeth.

What transpired next was so quick and entirely unexpected that few people present could give a completely accurate account after the fact.

When Thranduil's blow knocked him to the ground Aden happened to land on top of the king's discarded sword, surreptitiously grasping it in one hand. When Legolas' father turned his attention away from the fallen brothers to instruct his men to take them into custody Aden seized his chance. Leaping to his feet with a snarled curse on the heads of all elves, the man lunged forward with the intention of running the elven king through.

Unfortunately, the very lack of contact with folk of a difference race, elves specifically, which had allowed Aden and Admar to manipulate the town's emotions so well, was also his own undoing. Underestimating the strength and speed in which Thranduil would react to his movement Aden was entirely unprepared for the king to twist around and away from his lunge, a finely wrought dagger appearing in his hand from he knew not where. In one fluid movement the elf king allowed the man's momentum, and a good thrust of his own strong sword arm, to skewer the man soundly.

Aden doubled over the fist clenched about the hilt of the dagger, now flush with his abdomen, his own pilfered weapon sliding from suddenly nerveless fingers. All eyes were on the pair as Thranduil gave one good wrench of the blade for good measure before shoving the rapidly slackening body off and away from him. Aden fell back to the ground, his hands automatically moving to cover the large and bloody wound thrust under his ribs. His faltering gasps ceased a moment later, his pain taunt face going lax.

"That solves one problem at least," Faramir mused morbidly as he gawked at the tableau.

"But has created another," Gimli informed them. "Look," and he motioned to the spot where Admar had once been. "It seems his brother took advantage of such a wonderful distraction to escape."

Thranduil look about the square seeing no sign of the young man. He sighed. "This little revelation has complicated matters more, rather than simplifying them!"

"At least you managed to slay somebody," Gimli offered optimistically.

No one was amused.

"Quickly," the elven king instructed his troops. "Spread out and see if you can find this man. He can not have gotten far, and it is almost impossible to flee the town completely with our people surrounding the area."

Nodding briskly the majority of the elves in the square melted into the surrounding side streets and alleyways looking for signs of their prey.

"And what of the girl?" Faramir asked.

"I know not," Thranduil sighed again. "I needs speak to her before a decision is made, but I wager the death of her lover and a life of living as an outcast amongst her own people might be punishment enough."

"And the rest of the town?" the justice hedged nervously.

Before Thranduil could reply Faramir cleared his throat.

"May I make a suggestion?" he asked.

Wearied by the day's events Thranduil simply nodded his head, letting the man speak.

"The communities in Ithilien pay me a tithe on crops harvested in their fields. Would you be amicable to having this yield go to Legolas and his colony in my stead?"

"But that is hardly a punishment," Thranduil pointed out. "Nothing will have changed, only the recipient. I demand an extra ten percent as wergild!"

"We can not afford such a steep penalty," the justice interrupted distressed. "We would starve and there would be nothing left for market."

"The ten percent tithe as well as my word that I will smooth things over with Aragorn, augment my role in what has transpired and leave out some of the less flattering and unlawful actions by you and your people," Faramir countered. "I am sure your son would be grateful not to loose a dear friend."

Thranduil scoffed. "I hardly need you to protect me from Elessar. What's more, once your messenger arrives and alerts him of the situation it is a useless promise."

"Who said I sent a messenger?" Faramir grinned.

Thranduil was stunned. "Are you telling me you did not instruct your wife to send a messenger to Elessar the moment we were out of sight of your city? He is not on his way here this very moment?"

"That is what I am saying, yes."

"By Sauron's iron plated arse! You devil you!" Gimli guffawed.

Faramir looked sheepish. "I knew I would require some sort of leverage at some point and made the appropriate measures."

Thranduil narrowed cool eyes at the steward for a moment, contemplating, before putting his hand to his heard and bowing slightly.

Faramir grinned beatifically.

"Now," Thranduil said turning to and equally smug dwarf. "Let us see if we can not persuade my son to come out now that we are all glad and ready to break bread and drink wine in each others company."

The mockery was not at all lost of the dwarf.

Making their way back to the front doors of the hall Gimli gave the heavy wood a good pounding. "Open these doors, you daft elf," he yelled. "Your father and I wish to speak with you."

There was no response from within.

"Legolas, heart," Thranduil attempted. "Please let us in, the naugr…Gimli and I simply wish to help you."

"What if I do not wish your help," came the muffled reply. He must have been close to the doors, perhaps sitting leaned up against them, or standing with his forehead pressed to the cool wood.

"Say not such things," Thranduil pleaded. "The truth has come to light, there has been a resolution of sorts, surely you must have heard the commotion."

"I stopped my ears and heard nothing!" Legolas snapped back.

Shouldering the door quite firmly Gimli hollered with all his dwarven might. "Legolas open the damn door! Your father and I are collaborating for once; surely you wish to see it with your own eyes, for it is not likely to happen again in this age!"

There was a pregnant pause before the scraping of the brace was heard. Waiting a moment more Thranduil and Gimli tried the doors once again finding them unbarred and easily swung open. Quietly closing the door behind them the two made their way to Legolas' side, who was now sitting at the far end of the room at the justice's table and chair.

Taking in his son's forlorn expression Thranduil sank to his knees on the dusty floor and settled his head upon his child's knees, one arm snaking around the slim waist, the other around his shins.

"What news?" Legolas whispered, his hands automatically going to play in his father's pale tresses.

"The girl is found out and her real lover murdered by her own kin," Gimli explained gently.

"Ai, and I killed one of her treacherous brothers myself," Thranduil's voice filtered up from Legolas' lap. "The other fled in the confusion, but we will find him. The town will tithe to you as reparation, and Faramir has agreed to weave an alternate turn of events for Elessar's ears. You shall not be lacking in his friendship when all is said and done."

They waited in silence, the moments stretching longer than was possibly.

"I should be joyful, yet I am not," Legolas finally spoke. "I should not tremble at the sight of a town or fly into a rage when thwarted in a simple matter, yet I do. I should not attack innocent men, neither fall into meekness in their very presence, yet I have."

"You are weary," Gimli explained. "And been through a great trial, much of what you thought you knew set askew. Allow yourself time to grieve. You will see it will not always be so."

"Grieve?" Legolas asked. "Grieve for who?"

"Yourself."

"I sicken myself with this fear," Legolas asserted.

"Then you must face it," Thranduil suggested, lifting his head to look up at his son. "You have come this far, you have set foot in this village, now go one more step."

"You wish me to look the girl in the face, no blindfold between us," Legolas stated.

"With her brothers gone she is all that is left," Thranduil reasoned.

Before Legolas could reply there was a knock at the door. Gimli quickly shuffled over and stuck his head out to speak with whoever was on the other side. There was a hushed conversation before the dwarf shut the door and turned to face the two expectant elves, his face grim.

"I'm afraid there is no one left," he said. "The girl is dead. Strung herself up from the rafters of her home."

Thranduil rose to his feet clearly dismayed, Legolas following.

"Well then, if I am to overcome this there is only one other option open to me," the prince stated firmly. "I shall have to visit my grave."


	14. chapter 13

Note: Well this is it folks, the concluding part of Sowing Wind. I hope everyone who read this tale enjoyed it and I thank everyone who reviewed...a special thanks to Jebb and Deana who were quite dedicated with their comments (cheers guys I always looked forward to them). So without further ado here is the end.

Part 13

The path they trod upon was both strange to him yet eerily familiar. Each rut in the road, each bend, lay like a shadow in the corner of his memory. The girl was dead, one of her sadistic brothers as well, the other still unaccounted for. He had no other choice. Despite the hurt…the actual physical hurt which coursed through his body, he forced himself to take another step, and then another. If he did not do this now he would never again regain that part of himself left behind, that part he feared was sown beneath the soil.

He was dimly aware of his father's presence at his side, Gimli's as well. Their strength and resolve was a balm to his soul, for all his words and determination false bravado was not solely a quality found in men. He was afraid. He knew in his heart of hearts that there was no real danger, that setting foot in that field would not herald the very earth opening and swallowing him up once more, claiming the life of a victim who should never have escaped its grasp to begin with.

It had been a miraculous escape worthy of Mithrandir himself. His final shameful attempt to literally thrust himself free of the earth's grip had created a small hollow about his head, the pocket of air enough to sustain him long enough for Arod and Gimli to save him. Not his strength of will or the grace of the Valar had saved his life, but his own miserable, panicked attempts at gaining just one more breath. He spoke of it to no one.

As they left the last houses and man made structures behind them, walking out into the open, one of the many circling elven encampments sprung up before them. The commander in charge of the troop came forward to meet them, bowing to the trio.

"My lords," he said politely.

"Have you and your men join the search inside the town," Thranduil told him. "Master Gimli, the prince and myself wish to be alone for a time."

Legolas was grateful for his father's forethought. He did not wish for the other warriors to witness his reaction to site of his interment, and if he happened to break down completely he would be grateful for that fact ten times over.

"Of course my lord," the elf replied. "But I must warn you of a particularly dangerous patch of ground. We did not realize it was there for a time, but the heavy rain seems to have softened an area of turned over earth. It has created a sort of bog-sand. One of our men stepped into it, and might have been able to free himself but I am in doubt; it took two of us to pull him to safety. We have marked the periphery of the unstable ground with arrows."

"Thank you for the warning," Thranduil nodded.

It took but a short time for the rest of the elves to clear out of the campsite, leaving Legolas, Gimli and his father alone to weave their way past several tents and struggling fires towards the pit. It was not long before four red spots of color could be seen through the heavy mist which was beginning to fall over the damp countryside. As they approached the color coalesced into four red feathered arrows sticking from the ground, one on each corner of a rough rectangle.

They stopped as one a few feet away from the closest arrow and stared down at the unassuming plot of ground. The only indication that it was any more dangerous than the surrounding land was the slight sheen of murky water which clung to the top, a sure sign of over saturation.

"Is it not strange that I would fear a mud puddle more than an entire army of orcs?" Legolas mused, cocking his head to look at the spot of earth at another angle, as if such a change in perspective would reveal some sort of answer acceptable to him.

"Orcs you can slay with bow and knives, this, this," Gimli said, "can not feel your fury."

Legolas pursed his lips at that, then suddenly spat a great mouthful of saliva and ire onto the soupy ground.

"Legolas," his father chided, shaking his head.

"Its very presence leaves a bad taste in my mouth," he explained, trying to hide a smile as he spied Gimli's look of disgust out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps I should sow salt into this patch of ground, deprive it from ever knowing the joy of green things growing upon it ever again." He sighed as if disappointed. "No, I find that I can not hate so much as to deny that feeling to anyone or anything."

"That is encouraging," Gimli supplied. "You can suffer pity for that which almost took your life."

"Yes."

"And what of men?" Thranduil prodded.

"Men," Legolas stated. "Men I think have moved beyond our world. Though it pains me to say it, keeping to ourselves until our time here has past is the best and safest course. Arwen was our last gift; we can no longer help them."

"As if you ever helped us in the past!" a voice snarled from behind them.

Thinking themselves alone, their attention so focused on Legolas and his struggle, none were prepared for the sudden attack. Admar rush out from behind one of the encampment's tents, large rock in hand, striking Thranduil across the temple and felling him with the blow. With almost the same movement the man threw the stone with all his might in Legolas' direction, scoring a hit on the surprised elf's shoulder, spinning him to the ground with a pained cry as well. Gimli he tackled as he continued his charge unabated, knocking the dwarf off balance and right back into the soupy mix lying in wait behind him.

Legolas hissed as he turned over onto his side, his shoulder aching, he looked over to where Admar was jeering by the edge of the pit, standing quite triumphantly over Gimli, who was vainly struggling in the muck. His compact body and stouts limbs were practically useless mired as he was and he was sinking at an alarming rate.

Reaching behind him to un-sling his bow Legolas discovered the weapon to be worthless; his fall having snapped one tip off completely. Cursing his ill luck he struggled to his knees, casting a quick glance to see his father knocked completely unconscious. No help from that front. Gritting his teeth in determination, Gimli's gasps echoing in the back of his head, he unsheathed his knife and pulled it back for a throw; his injuring hampering his customary arm, forcing him to use his ill favored and quite unpracticed left hand. He almost closed is eyes as he snapped his arm out letting the blade slip free of his grasp, but managed to keep his gaze trained on Admar's back. His aim was true.

One moment Admar stood there, the expanse of his broad back unhindered, the next an elegant elven long knife stood imbedded by his spine at the base of his neck. The end of the blade exploded from his throat, a bloody cough his last breath as the force of the impact sent him tumbling forward into the pit…and on top of the weakening dwarf.

"Gimli!" Legolas called, lurching to his feet and running to the edge of the pit.

He could not see the dwarf. Admar's prone body was slowly disappearing under the mud.

Without a moments hesitation the elf stepped off of solid ground, the ice cold mud enveloping him up to his waist in an instant. Fighting his way over to the body, using the man's legs to pull himself along, he reached the center of the pit and rolled Admar over and away from him, the earth making a hideous sucking sound as it reluctantly released its grip on the corpse. Crouching down further into the mud, his chin nearly touching the surface, Legolas swept his arms about him in wide arcs in a desperate attempt to come into contact with Gimli.

His muscles were burning and panic was rising, not only for his friend, but for his own safety, as he overbalanced a fell sideways. His head immersed for a moment until he broke surface again gasping for air, his vision hindered by the clinging filth. He was now sunk up to his neck, unable to pull himself upright. It seemed this plot of earth would claim his life after all…along with that of his friend. His father would awaken and find them nowhere in sight, perhaps not even thinking of searching the depths of the pit, their bodies lost to their kin forever.

Kicking out in an attempt to keep his head above the surface his foot suddenly connected with something solid. Heart rate and hope rising he maneuvered his way over until he was directly beside his discovery. With one more fortifying breath he ducked down under the muck and reached out. Grasping the dense muscles of what could only be a dwarf, Legolas pushed himself further down until he could shove his friend upward from beneath. The pressure from above was immense, the suction around them debilitating, but finally, though he could not see it, Gimli's body found the surface.

He could not hear it but when his head cleared the mud Gimli took an automatic and much appreciated breath of clean air. Mind clearing quickly with his renewed ability to breathe, he sputtered out mud and ineffectually wiped at his eyes with equally filthy hands. Something was holding him up, pushing him clear of the pit and closer to salvation. Looking about he saw what little was left of Admar's body still visible from the surface, a familiar bone handle protruding from the back of his neck. Never one to decline a gift the dwarf reached out and yanked the weapon free, stretching his short arms out and by providence reaching the edge of the pit. He plunged the knife into the more substantial ground, keeping a firm hold on it with one hand. With his make shift anchor in place Gimli leaned back over as far as he could and reached back down to grasped at his savior. A handful of hair was the first thing he was able to get a firm hold of, mud slick as flesh was, and with the strength of a dwarf and elven hair as his aids pulled Legolas up. It was a mighty struggle to draw them both over to the side of the pit one handed, but once he hauled himself onto solid ground the leverage gained allowed him to drag Legolas up beside him.

They both lay there gasping, Legolas slightly dazed and unsure what had transpired; he had been prepared to die there, with the hope of Gimli's survival calming his spirit. Nevertheless it appeared they were both alive. How remarkable. He rolled his head over in fatigue, the muscles in his neck without strength, and caught sight of his father lying nearby.

Dragging himself over in concern, he reached out with shaking, mud caked hands to feel at his father's swan white throat. There was blood covering half of his face and he seemed very still. He sighed in relief once he discerned the strong beat of a heart under his fingers. Satisfied he collapsed beside his father, drained.

A moment later he heard Gimli lugging himself over to them, the dwarf appearing by his side, breath labored.

"Alive then?" he asked.

"Yes," Legolas croaked. "I think he is only knocked unconscious."

"Good," Gimli said, then reached out with one dirty finger and traced two muddy lines outward from under his father's noble nose. Satisfied with his work Gimli sat back, a devilish grin on his face.

Legolas looked upon his father and the gritty brown mustache gracing his face and fell into gales of silvery laughter. Gimli soon followed suit, the two of them wrought with convulsions unabated.

This was how Thranduil would find them when he finally regained his wits, the pair bursting into fresh howls at the sight of the elf king looking sternly upon them. They would regret it the moment Thranduil got hold of a mirror, but until then they could be merry.

The End


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